


Frostbite

by mckayla (steveromanov)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Artist!Steve, Asshole!Alexei, Ballerina!Natasha, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Sexual Content, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveromanov/pseuds/mckayla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha didn't <i>need</i> anyone—no one, except perhaps Clint, because he needed her, too, and that made her feel slightly less pathetic for not having her shit together. </p><p>But Clint was her best friend, and the way she needed him was different from the way she came to realize she needed his new roommate, as well. </p><p>Romanogers, college AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you may have guessed, this is a Steve/Nat College AU. It may be a little slow build, because I'm headcanoning Natasha to be a little darker (and hesitant, despite her flirting) due to her relationship with Alexei, though nothing too serious. Steve is, essentially, going to be the new light in her life, and she's going to be hesistant. Because, as you also may have guessed, Alexei is a dick.
> 
> Furthermore, I'd like to say a little something to user **ice326**. I'm still working on the prompt you gave me, do not fret! I'll probably have it posted by Sunday, i'm hoping. I've just been wanting to write a college AU and decided to write it down before I lost the idea completely.
> 
> Continuing on, just a few little notes: _Italics_ , at least large bodies of it, are for flashbacks. Alright, I think i've covered anything? Reviews and input is appreciated! I will always take ideas for future chapters, it certainly helps me with ideas because God knows I begin to struggle with those sooner rather than later when I'm writing a multi-chap fic. So don't be shy, okay?
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

Natasha muttered a swear into the collar of her winter coat as another sharp gust of wind picked up and she ignored how her scarlet locks blew up around her head and tickled her face in favor of keeping her hands tucked warmly—well, as warm as they could possibly get—in her jacket’s pockets. The young college student couldn’t fight off the harsh sting of the New York winter, not even with the predominant anger at the occurred events of not even fifteen minutes prior coursing through her lithe body, and the fact that she was freezing her ass off alone—coupled with the verity that she was about two seconds away from breaking campus property in the midst of her agitation—only made her more determined to get to her destination faster.

Despite this, however, she felt as if she had been walking the nearly-obscured path that cut through-and-through the campus for hours. She had walked the trail plenty of times before, headed to the same destination as she was now, but never as late as two in the morning and never in such an unbearable climate. She was Russian— _born_ in the damn place, for crying out loud—but either she’d been living in the States for too long or NYC's winter rivaled that of her homeland’s because she was pretty sure she was more likely to catch a bout of hypothermia before she arrived at the ever so familiar brick structure that was her best friend’s dorm building. In fact, she was about to just turn around and stick her head in the snow—maybe it’d alleviate the headache that she had suddenly realized she had _him_ to thank for—when the dim, flickering light hanging above Stark Hall’s back entrance caught her eye and filled her with just enough drive to hightail it a little while further. Soon, she reluctantly slipped her hand out of her jacket and shrugged her sleeve down over her fingers before wrapping them around the doorknob, slipping inside without so much as a sound just as she had done so many times before.

In all her times of sneaking into the male dormitory, Natasha had never been caught—and she certainly wasn’t about to start now, not when she already had enough to deal with for the remainder of the night (or morning, depending on your perspective). The redhead effortlessly tiptoed through the lobby, and though she was in a haste to reach her endpoint, she ignored the elevator and headed straight for the stairs. Five flights later and she was barely even panting as she crept into the corridor lining the dorm rooms, habitually finding her way to the end of the hall in the dark before fishing her spare key out from where it hung from her neck and slipping it quietly into the lock.

When she finally stepped inside and clicked the door softly shut behind her, Natasha let out a quiet, frustrated sigh as she closed her eyes and tried desperately to ignore the loud _thump thump thump_ of her headache thrashing about in her skull. Now that she was out of the cold and standing in a place that was comfortable and familiar, the events that had caused her to come to Clint’s dorm room in the first place came rushing back to reawaken her fury, making her grit her teeth in an effort not to let out a brain-liquefying scream.

* * *

_“You’re a goddamn bitch, you know that?”_

_Natasha let out a dark, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, I’m the bitch? After what_ you’ve _just done? And you don’t even have the decency to defend yourself—not that it’d matter, anyway. I caught you red-handed, and_ I’m _the bitch. That’s grand.”_

_“You act like you’re such a goddamn saint!”_

_“I’m not a saint, and I’ll be the first one to tell you that,” she bit out, “but you don’t see me walking around screwing_ your _friends, do you?” His jaw worked with the lack of anything worthwhile to say and Natasha scoffed. “Yeah, I thought so. I’m done. Have a nice fucking life, Alexei.”_

_A cold, strong hand wrapped around her wrist as she turned to leave. His grip was tight, painful, and it took all her strength not to wince at what she knew were the beginning of bruises. She didn’t look back at him as he spoke next, though his voice had an unnerving sureness to it that made her more uncomfortable than she would have liked._

_“You’ll come back to me. You always do,” he hissed lowly, “you need me.”_

_Natasha turned her head to the side, but didn’t look at him over her shoulder. “You overestimate your importance,” she growled, voice strong, before firmly yanking her arm free from his hold. Fortunately, he didn’t try to fight the motion. “And you underestimate me.”_

_As Natasha walked out the door, Alexei didn’t move to follow her. However, she did hear him calling out,_

_“You need me, Natasha. You fucking_ need _me!”_

* * *

Natasha ran a hand through her hair, shaking away the recent memories before letting out another low huff of breath and tossing her coat on the old couch in front of her. She didn’t _need_ anyone—no one, except perhaps Clint, which was exactly why she was here in the first place. However, it was not a one-way street, because Clint needed her just as much and the thought made her feel slightly less pathetic for not having her shit together. If she was going to need _someone_ to slightly depend on, then she’d rather it be someone who’d also need to depend on _her_ from time to time.

With that, she expertly navigated her way around Clint’s furniture—and all of the discarded junk food wrappers and containers—in the living area before finding her way to his bedroom door, not even bothering to knock and instead silently allowing herself in. She shuffled over to the bed, stubbed her toe on a table that definitely hadn’t been there the numerous other times before, though she easily shrugged the inconsistency off (Clint _was_ allowed to redecorate his own dorm room, after all) and climbed fully-clothed beside her sleeping best friend in his bed. She settled in with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for Clint to awaken and ask her what was wrong so that she could rebuff his efforts for at least an hour before his persistent asking (not really) got on her nerves and she spilled every detail about her ten-millionth—and, she willfully hoped, the last—fight with Alexei.

However, when he awakened not even fifteen seconds later, the sleep-heavy voice that spoke out to her did _not_ belong to Clint, nor did the alarmed, stricken body that jerked out from under the covers and scrambled away from Natasha, who was now sitting up in the bed with a thoroughly confused expression marking her features.

“What—who the hell are you?!”

 _Definitely_ not Clint.

“ _Me?_ ” Natasha scowled, looking at the stranger as if _he_ was the one who had crept into her bed. Speaking of which, she had still yet to crawl out from under the blankets, and she wasn’t making a move to do so anytime soon. “Who the hell are _you_? Where’s Clint?”

Even though she still couldn’t see his face in the darkness of the room, Natasha knew he was looking at her like she was crazy. “Clint? Who—oh, him, he’s—wait, why should I even be answering you?”

“Because I’m his best friend, and you’re currently in his bedroom.”

“No, you’re currently in _my_ bedroom,” he retorted, “even worse, you’re lying in my bed.”

Natasha angled her jaw to the side. “Look, clearly one of us is in the wrong place—”

“I’m not in the wrong place. This is my room, that’s my bed, that’s my desk, that’s my lamp—”

Suddenly, the room filled with dim light as the guy stepped over to the nightstand on the other side of the bed and switched the lamp on. Natasha stared at him blankly, quickly looking him up and down before following the motion of his hand as he gestured widely around the bedroom. As she turned her head and inspected the rest of the area, she immediately got the notion that, okay, maybe she _was_ the one in the wrong place, after all.

Instead of Clint’s bean bag chair that was usually pushed up in the corner of the room, there was a small table cluttered with numerous art supplies. Instead of the holes that Clint had littered into the walls while practicing with his bow and arrow, there were posters of random drawings and old, vintage war propaganda posters. Instead of the heap of old takeout containers stacked messily on the floor near the window, there was a navy duffel bag overflowing with used baseball equipment. And instead of _Clint Barton_ standing in a rumpled T-shirt and pair of purple basketball shorts, there was a shirtless, muscly stranger perched before her in nothing but blue flannels and an anxious expression on his—she easily noted—handsome face.

Natasha swallowed before slowly creeping out from under the covers, standing stiffly on her side of the bed before finally bringing her eyes to meet the stranger’s own blue orbs. His expression was noticeably softer now, though he was still looking at her expectantly as she failed to scramble up an explanation as to why she had crawled into this man’s bed during the middle of the night. She chewed her lip and lifted her shoulder in a slow shrug.

“Well…” She said, a small, wry smile on her face. “This is awkward.”

The stranger’s shoulders relaxed as he straightened his posture and mimicked her smile, though it was slightly more hesitant and uncomfortable. He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish blush crossing his cheeks, as he nodded. “Yeah, no kidding. Look…I’m Steve.”

“Natasha,” she said in response, not bothering to try and shake his hand with the wide bed separating the two of them. “So, now that I know that this is now _your_ room…can I ask what happened to my best friend? You didn’t steal his identity, did you?”

Steve laughed. “Uh, no. I just moved in a few days ago; I had way more stuff than he did, so he moved into the other room in the apartment,” he gestured vaguely to the right, presumably past the wall and at the second bedroom on the other side of the living area, which had been left vacant the entire three years Natasha and Clint had been attending after his old roommate, Phil Coulson, moved to LA and his replacements proved to be no-shows. At least, until now. “He’s actually not here right now, though. I think he's on a date.”

“Damn it,” Natasha cursed. Reeling from her fight with Alexei, as well as in her haste to get to the dorm, she had forgotten that Clint mentioned to her that he and Bobbi, a girl he had been seeing, were going out for the night. “I guess I should have called. I’m just used to Clint being…here. And alone.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint,” Steve replied, smiling genuinely. It was here that he finally looked at her— _really_ looked at her, past her vibrant green eyes and distinctive scarlet hair, and saw how she looked physically exhausted, and not from studying and working endlessly for any college classes. She wasn’t very telling; she carried herself confidently, he could tell, because she had just crawled into bed with a man whom she had never met and was handling the embarrassment fairly well. But despite this, his eyes immediately found the discolored bruising wrapped like an angry bracelet around her left wrist, and his brow furrowed in concern.

Before he could question her, however, Natasha caught his gaze and tucked her hands beneath her armpits, as if she was trying to protect herself from the cold—never mind the fact that the heater was on and had been well before Steve decided to go to sleep. Instead of trying to push the subject, though, he pretended as if he hadn’t noticed the obviously fresh markings and tipped his head toward the living room.

“Uh, you can stay here, if you want. I don’t know him well, but I’m sure Clint wouldn’t mind,” Steve stammered awkwardly, “At least, if what you’re saying about you being his best friend is true.”

Natasha smirked, as if she clearly hadn’t caught him staring at where Alexei had grabbed her only moments before. “With the current weather, I wasn’t really planning on leaving, soldier.”

“’Soldier’?” Steve frowned, though he coupled it with a small smile.

Natasha pointed at one of the World War II-style posters hanging above the bed. “Seemed fitting.”

“Yeah, well,” he blushed again and shrugged. “Call me an enthusiast.”

“Nah, I think I’ll stick with soldier,” she teased, making her way toward the bedroom door. As she stepped out into the living area, she leaned back and poked her head inside to look at him again. He was still blushing. “And thank you for not, well, doing anything _brash_ after finding me lying next to you. Goodnight—and nice to meet you, I guess.”

“Night, and you, too,” Steve replied with a nod, watching her with a small smile as she closed the door behind her with a muffled _click_. It wasn’t until he had finally turned off the lights, climbed back into bed, and heard the door to Clint’s room shut on the other side of the apartment that he let out a long, deep sigh and whispered, "Well. That was something."

Little did he know that across the way, Natasha was telling herself the exact same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone catch the CATWS quote reference? Hm?
> 
> Please review what you thought! I know it's short, but the future chapters will probably be a little more longer. Also, expect an appearance from Clint in chapter 2.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the nice comments! Here's chapter 2, and reviews are appreciated!

When Natasha came to the next morning, she was happy to see that the man thoroughly unconscious beside her _was_ Clint, still half-dressed in last night’s clothes—he had stripped of his pants but he was still wearing the rumpled button-up she had bought him once for his birthday, though only three buttons were currently done and none of them in a consecutive order—and with a faint red stain of lipstick disappearing from the corner of his mouth and into his cheek. Natasha smiled at that, though she quickly remembered why she was lying in his bed and in a room that had still yet to be unpacked, despite the fact that Clint had only relocated twenty feet, and stuck her hand out from under the comforter to thump him harshly on the nose.

Clint jolted with a snort, eyes widened in alarm as he looked around the room for a threat before realizing that it was _Natasha_ , who was waiting for him to calm down with an amused glint in her green eyes. He glared at her, the tip of his nose turning pink from the thump of her fingernail, and dropped his head exhaustedly back on his pillow.

“ _Ow_ , Nat, what the hell?” He grumbled.

The glint disappeared. “Why didn’t you tell me you moved rooms? Better yet, why didn’t you tell me you got a _roommate_?” She hissed lowly.

Clint furrowed his eyebrows, as if he was confused as to what she was talking about, before realization hit him and he widened his eyes once again. “Jesus, well, you didn’t have to fucking _attack_ m—” He stopped what he was about to voice when Natasha leveled him with a glare, and swallowed thickly before instead saying, “I’ve barely seen you all week, Tash, and it was kind of all last second. It slipped my mind.”

“’Slipped your mind’?” She questioned incredulously, green eyes narrowed. “How could someone moving in to your apartment _slip your mind_?”

“Why are you so heated over this? Stewart’s cool enough; I mean, he’s an art freak, but I don’t really mind that because, let’s face it, I’m an _archery_ freak and that’s already uncommon enough,” Clint said with a laugh.

“Steve,” Natasha corrected.

“What?”

“His name’s Steve.”

“How do you—?” Clint frowned and fell silent, thinking to himself, before his eyebrows slowly lifted until Natasha thought they were going to disappear into the dirty blond strands on his head. “Oh… _oh_. You didn’t, uh—”

“I did,” Natasha closed her eyes as she slowly nodded. “I did.”

Her eyes snapped back open in a ferocious glare when she heard Clint begin to sputter with laughter. When she punched him harshly in the shoulder with a bony fist, he only laughed harder, and Natasha sat up in the bed and crossed her arms over her chest, mouth set in a scowl.

“Oh, god. Too bad I wasn’t here for _that_ ,” Clint gasped, clutching his stomach with a drool-stained hand. “So, were you the big spoon or the little spoon?”

Clint stopped laughing when Natasha connected the heel of her hand to his cheekbone.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” he surrendered, clutching his hurt cheek in his palm, though the amused smile was still playing faintly on the corners of his mouth. “But, seriously, Stew— _Steve’s_ cool. And I know that’s not saying much, considering I can’t remember his name, but in my defense, I’m a little hungover.”

Deciding to forgive him, Natasha lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah. How was last night?”

Clint suppressed a smirk. “Let’s just say, I got home right before sunrise.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Okay, that’s all I need to know. I think my imagination can handle the rest, though I can say for a fact that it won't want to.” She smirked at him and as a red wave of hair fell loose in front of her eyes, she lifted up her left hand to tuck it back behind her ear.

That’s when all of the cynical playfulness that she had so easily come to identify with her best friend disappeared, his jaw set and eyes dark with barely concealed anger as he reached out and grabbed her palm. Natasha didn’t even bother pulling away as Clint turned her hand to the side to get a better view of the bruises that now looked way worse than they had the night before, instead biting harshly down on her lip as she felt Clint's eyes practically burn into her wrist. 

“Nat.” His voice was low, not exactly a warning, but it did make her avert her gaze for a fraction of a second. Clint’s hold on her didn’t hurt, but it was firm enough to let her know that trying to joke now wasn’t going to get her anywhere. “Is _he_ why you came here?”

The way she stared back at him was all he needed as an answer.

“I swear to god, I’m gonna _kill_ that son of a bitch,” Clint seethed, finally letting go of her hand so that she could tuck it back into her lap.

“No, you’re not,” she stated firmly, grabbing him by the sleeve of his shirt as he made a move to get up. “I’m done with that asshole, he’s out of my life. Let’s leave it at that.”

Clint scowled. “He’s hurt you enough, Tasha.”

“Alexei’s done more than give me a few small bruises before, and you know that,” Natasha said, voice low. “He’s not worth it, Clint. I’m _done_ with him, for good this time, I swear.”

_And I’m not going back to him. Not even to kick his ass, because that’ll just prove him right, and I’m done proving him right._

Clint seriously looked as if he was about to disobey her, his jaw working harshly as he grit his teeth, before he finally brought his eyes up to meet her own. She nodded at him then, a small reassurance, before he took her palm in his and squeezed lightly.

“If you change your mind….”

“I won’t,” Natasha said, “but thank you, Clint.”

“Always,” he sighed, and then just like that, he was back to being the same-old Clint. She could still tell he was worried, perhaps even a little apprehensive, but he was trying not to be for her sake and she mentally thanked him again for it. “Hey, how about we go binge on bowls of Lucky Charms? I won’t steal all of your marshmallows this time.”

“Liar,” Natasha smiled, punching him lightly in the arm. “But deal.”

She waited a few seconds for Clint to shrug out of his dress shirt and pull on some sweats, following him out into the living area seconds later to grab their respective bowls of cereal. She wasn’t even five bites in when a pair of keys jiggled in the front door’s knob and in stepped Steve, looking positively flushed in a pair of navy track pants and a tight-fitting grey zip-up.

Steve immediately averted his eyes away from Natasha in embarrassment, though he changed his mind and looked back when he figured that completely ignoring her would be rude. He was just about to open his mouth to stammer out some sort of nonsense when, thankfully, Clint spoke up through a mouthful of cereal.

“Morning, man,” he greeted, waving at him with his spoon. “Did you seriously go for a run in the snow?”

Steve blushed. Natasha had still yet to completely acknowledge him, at least verbally, and instead regarded him nonchalantly as she chewed on a rainbow marshmallow. “I’ve ran in colder,” he shrugged. “I was an army brat. New York has nothing on the places I’ve lived in.”

Clint nodded slowly. “Yeah? Ever been to Russia?”

Natasha never lost her composure, never really let any words catch her off guard, but when she _did_ , her movements were subtle; tamed. So as the words came out of her best friend’s mouth and caused her spoon to clink awkwardly against her teeth, only Clint noticed, and she would’ve kicked him in the shin as he smiled at her amusedly were it not for the clear view Steve would have had of the entire scene.

Steve, thankfully, didn’t notice her brief lapse of poise, and shook his head regretfully. “Can’t say I have, no,” he replied. “But it’s on my bucket list. Russia’s beautiful, where it counts.”

“Hear that, Romanoff?” Clint smirked. “Maybe you can take Steve back with you next time.”

“What?” Steve finally looked at her now, and without hesitation or a blush burning his cheeks. “You’re Russian?”

“Lived there for the first ten years of my life,” Natasha finally spoke, shrugging her shoulders casually as she twirled her spoon in her bowl.

“You miss it?”

She met his eye. “Not really, no.”

It was quiet after that, and awkward. Clint figured that he had teased Natasha enough because he devoted all of his attention to his heaping bowl of cereal, and it wasn’t until the sounds of the archer slurping the sugary milk from the bottom of his bowl—which didn’t take long; Clint sucked things up like a vacuum—that Steve coughed politely and angled his head toward his closed bedroom door.

“Well, I better take a shower,” Steve smiled graciously, “I smell like sweat and frost.”

He nodded his head one last time and Clint gave a final wave before Steve turned and headed for his bedroom. Natasha didn’t say anything in response, though that didn’t stop her from keeping her green eyes trained on Steve’s back, her expression completely indifferent.

Clint knew better, however. “Hook, line and sinker.”

“Screw you, Barton,” she hissed, finally jabbing her toes into Clint’s shin bone with a muffled, yet still satisfying _crack_.

* * *

A few days later and she hadn’t seen much of Steve after that one morning, spending most of her time studying with Clint in the library or bundling up and watching Netflix with her own roommate, Maria. In fact, she didn’t even _think_ of Steve much, because he was just some guy that she’d had an embarrassing, completely platonic encounter with and there was nothing much more to him than that, at least nothing that concerned _her_. So, with that, she carried on with her week, and everything was going on as usual—including her normal run-in with a very much unwanted past flame.

No, not a flame. It was barely even a _spark_ , and she was hesitant to call it even that, but it had happened nonetheless and she was now paying the consequences for it.

“How you doing, Natasha?”

Natasha didn’t stop walking as the voice called out to her, and instead only walked faster, despite the fact that she knew that wouldn’t discourage the man from following her. Sure enough, she could feel his incessant presence hovering behind her, his footsteps crunching in the thin sheet of snow beneath their feet.

“Go away, Rumlow,” the redhead briskly said, not bothering to look back at him.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he replied, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“You stalked me last Tuesday,” Natasha pointed out flatly.

Rumlow was finally walking in step with her. “Yeah, and that’s a while.”

“Not even going to deny the fact that you were stalking me,” she stated flatly, shaking her head with a scoff.

“Well, what’s a guy supposed to do when you’re always ignoring my texts, ignoring me in _person_ —”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe take a hint?”

“You know I’m one for specifics,” Rumlow grinned, and it was one of the sleaziest smiles Natasha had ever seen in her life.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “What you and I did could be barely considered as making out. And not only that, but it was during our sophomore year,” she stated impatiently. “So excuse me if I don’t know your preferences like the back of my hand, Brock.”

“Ooh, a first-name basis. We’re making progress,” Rumlow said.

“We’re making nothing. Now, can you leave?”

“Why?” Rumlow suddenly inched closer to her, not wrapping his arm around her shoulders but not exactly keeping his hands to himself, either. “Why stop now when all’s going so well?”

Natasha opened her mouth to respond but the voice that followed was not her own—and wasn’t even a female’s, at that. “Hey, guy. Leave the dame alone.”

Not even bothering to turn around, Rumlow let out a loud laugh. “’Dame’? Does a time machine come with that vocabulary, bud—?”

The words were abruptly cut off in Rumlow’s mouth as the newly arrival wrapped his fingers around the other man’s shoulder, yanking him only hard enough to provide Natasha with some space. The man stepped between her and Rumlow, his back turned to her so that she couldn’t see his face, and she couldn’t even identify him by the hair on his head for it was covered by a dark blue beanie. Instead, she focused on how Rumlow narrowed his eyes furiously at the new guy, balling his fists at his sides despite the fact that the other man had at least four inches on him.

“Why don’t you mind your fucking business, man?”

“Why don’t you mind yours?” _Wait. I know that voice._ “She clearly didn’t want to be bothered—and, I couldn’t help but notice, especially by you.”

At this, the guy turned and glanced briefly back at Natasha to check if she was okay and, sure enough, the blue eyes that looked back at her belonged to none other than Clint’s new roommate, Steve. Natasha didn’t have much time to react, though, because the glance was fleeting and he quickly turned his attention back to the dark-haired guy glowering before him.

The two men stared at one another and Natasha watched as Rumlow slowly started to give up, before finally sighing in surrender with a deep scowl.

“Fine. But you won’t be around next time, asshole.” Steve was silent as Rumlow walked off, and he waited until the bastard’s black jacket was no longer visible in the morning mist before finally turning around to regard Natasha.

She spoke before he could. “I had that covered, you know,” Natasha said, though her voice lacked any agitation or scorn, and in fact she had one of her brows raised in slight interest as she looked the blond-haired man in the eye.

Steve’s face somewhat softened in a small smile and he shook his head. “Yeah, well, that prick was getting hands-y,” he replied, “and I’m not one to step down from a fight, not even when the fight doesn’t concern me. Never was.”

She raised her eyebrow even further. “A true knight in shining armor,” she drawled, “your everyday hero.”

Steve watched her for a moment before his expression slowly turned into an offended frown. “You’re mocking me.”

“I—” Natasha caught herself before letting out a sigh. _Why did she feel bad for offending him?_ “I’m just not used to the chivalrous type. You don’t get a lot of that in New York.” She cocked her head to the side and managed a small smile of her own, though it was faint and anyone not observant enough wouldn’t have caught it. Steve did, however, because he beamed himself as she added, “so, thank you for being so willing to kick Rumlow’s ass despite the fact that you barely even know me.”

Steve quietly chuckled. “Yeah, well, I guess we’re working backwards. First you’re in my bed, then we experience the morning after, and _then_ I threaten a guy for you to get completely on your radar. You know, normally, things work the other way around.”

“Oh?” Natasha gave him a sly look, causing him to blush, though he could have easily blamed the coloring in his cheeks on the cold. “I wasn’t aware we were building up a relationship here, soldier.”

“A friendship,” Steve corrected, ears turning red at his brief boldness before stammering, “If, uh, if you’d like.”

Natasha refrained from laughing at his bashfulness, deciding to save him from any further embarrassment. “You’re roommates with my best friend. It’d be kind of hard to _not_ become friends with one another, sooner or later.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s good, then. I’m afraid I don’t know anybody here.”

Natasha had motioned for him to walk with her and the two of them started down the path she had been navigating before Rumlow so welcomingly intruded. She didn’t look up at him as she spoke next, though she instantly became privy to the fact that Steve was very much taller than her, even more so than Clint.

“You never did say where you were from.”

“I was born in Brooklyn,” Steve answered, “But my dad was in the military. We moved around a lot, like I said, but we eventually settled down back here. I just transferred from a community college, on scholarship.”

“’Was’? He retired?”

A solemn look fell over Steve’s features, one that Natasha definitely picked up on even though she wasn’t sure he was even trying to hide it or not. “No, um...he was killed in action.”

“Oh,” she murmured, not bothering to give him a sympathetic look. Growing up, she hated getting those types of looks from all of the other kids when they heard about her own parents, so she didn’t want to bother Steve with the pity. Still, that didn’t stop her from offering her condolences, at least out of respect. “I’m sorry.”

Steve shook his head, silently telling her that she had nothing to apologize for. He had a wistful smile on his face now as he turned his eyes upwards towards the snowy sky. “He’s got fine company, so I’m okay.”

The way he had said that told Natasha that she wasn’t the only orphan among the two of them.

Natasha was saved from having to ask anything further as Steve quickly changed the subject, motioning to her with his chin. “Speaking of, I never did ask you if you were alright.”

“Hm? What are—oh,” she ignored the urge to look over her shoulder to see if Rumlow had begun following them again, instead shrugging as she felt Steve’s eyes hover on her patiently. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

She also ignored how Steve was gazing concernedly at the spot where the sleeve of her sweater covered up the plum-colored bruises on her wrist.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly.

It was Natasha’s turn to shake hear head, forcing a smile upon her lips and the image of Alexei out of her mind. “I’ve got my very own knight in shining armor, so I’m okay.”

Steve’s face lit up in a low laugh at that, and the smile that formed on Natasha’s full lips afterwards was completely genuine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I hope you guys like this one. Sorry if this fic has been a little slow to start, but I'm working my way up to it. Like I said, slow build! But anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and thank you for all of the nice things you have all been saying! It really helps, and I really appreciate it.

“He _what_?”

Natasha, who was currently sitting in the library and staring down at one of her criminal justice textbooks, ignored the half-amused, half-disbelieving look Clint was currently shooting her over his notepad that had more drawings scrawled inside than actual words, if there even were any. She rolled the cap to her red pen between her lips, marking a few notes in the margin, before indifferently responding to her best friend with brows furrowed in concentration.

“He scared Rumlow off,” she said, flipping a page before glancing up at a barely-touched bagel resting on a napkin besides Clint’s hand. “Hey, are you gonna eat that?”

Clint shoved it over without much thought, though probably because he was focused on the fact—not that Natasha couldn’t take care of herself; she had hit him enough times for him to know that she sure packed one hell of a punch—that Steve was so willing to kick Brock Rumlow’s ass just because he had been up to his usual habits of being a flat-out dick. Natasha didn’t seem all that affected by Steve’s chivalrous display, other than admitting that she _was_ surprised that “such thing as a ‘gentleman’”—her words, even though they were spoken with a hint of irony—existed in New York City.

“Well, it’s like I said,” Clint shrugged, “hook, line and seeker.”

Natasha didn’t look up from the text, but he saw how her brow twitched in annoyance. “It’s not like that. We’ve just had very odd run-ins.”

“Aren’t you the one that said he asked for…how’d he say it, a ‘friendship’? Yeah, that’s grand,” he balanced on one of the legs in his chair and ignored the glare a few passersby gave him as he kicked his feet up on the table. “And never mind the fact that the guy turns the color of your hair every time you talk to him.”

Natasha finally tore her green orbs away to stare at him, picking up a crumpled ball of binder paper and tossing it at his smug head. “Trust me, it’s not an exclusive thing. While he and I were walking after the Rumlow incident, some random girl hit on him and the poor guy looked as if he was going to melt into the snow.”

“Who’re we babbling about? Frosty the Snowman?”

Natasha didn’t bother turning her head toward the new voice, though Clint did, cracking a grin and waving as he did so. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead pointedly ignoring the newly arrival in favor of jotting down a few useless facts from her textbook, though it was an act done in vain because soon she could feel the man’s cocky brown eyes and even cockier smile melting into the back of her ponytail.

“Romanoff, you wound me.”

“Fuck off, Stark,” she called back, barely maintaining her patience. It wasn’t as if she _hated_ Tony Stark, she’d just mostly prefer not to have to deal with his egotistical nonsense. She couldn’t deny that the man was a genius, and she couldn’t deny that he was conventionally good-looking, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to roll her eyes until they popped out of her head every time he was in her presence. Never mind the fact that his father was one of the top benefactors to the school, Tony was a playboy, a party-holic, a smartass—and he knew it.

Thankfully, he had a better half.

“Leave her alone, Tony,” Pepper Potts warned, trailing in with a few clunky business textbooks hugged closely to her chest. She made a point to thump Tony on the back of his head as she walked by and settled in besides Natasha, smiling at her friend warmly before leveling her boyfriend with another cautioning glare.

Tony, who was wearing sunglasses despite the fact that they were indoors—and in  _winter_ , no less—raised his hands in mock surrender, though his lips were tilted in a self-satisfied smirk. “Fine, fine, fine,” he said. “But seriously, who were you guys going on about?”

“My new roommate,” Clint answered. “Natasha’s had some—”

Clint shut up when Natasha discreetly kicked his chair back, throwing him off-balance and nearly causing him to topple over. Thankfully, his reflexes were quick, for he caught and righted his chair on all four legs before anything drastic happened, though he quickly got the hint and didn’t continue what he was going to say.

Tony, who definitely noticed the entire situation, opened his mouth to loudly question the two best friends before another throng of people approached their table, a certain six-foot-something, long-haired blond man clapping his hot, heavy hands on Tony’s shoulders and nearly driving him through the wood of his seat.

“Friends!” Thor Odinson boomed, earning a loud _shush_ from the librarian perched behind her desk a few feet away. The exchange student shot her an apologetic look that made her almost appear ashamed for scolding him, though she maintained her authority with another weak stare of warning that wasn’t really taken seriously by any of the students due to the blush that came with it. Thor was a good guy, though none of the others could deny that one of the biggest advantages of being his friend was how easily he could win over any type of authority without even trying. “How are we on this fine day?”

“It’s thirty degrees out with wind-chill,” Bruce Banner popped his shaggy head out from behind one of Thor’s bulging biceps, appearing much smaller compared to their foreign friend. The physics major looked up at the blond with an eyebrow raised. “That’s hardly ‘fine’.”

“Where the hell is your jacket, Big Guy?” Tony asked, eyes skimming over Thor’s torso, which was only covered in a tight white thermal. The millionaire looked as if he was thoroughly horrified by Thor’s lack of outerwear.

“I lent it to lady Jane,” Thor shrugged, finally sliding into a chair. The rest of them ignored how it creaked in protest beneath all of his weight.

Tony slid his eyes to his girlfriend. “No offence, Pep, but please don’t ever expect that type of behavior from me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” the strawberry blonde replied with an eye roll, though she had an affectionate tilt to her smile that made Natasha shake her head in incredulousness.

“Ever so the gentleman, Stark,” she drawled.

Tony grinned, but before he could say anything Clint looked up from where he was spinning a pen between his fingers and at someone who just stepped through the door. “Speaking of gentlemen,” he said, raising a hand in the air to beckon at the newly arrival with two fingers. “Hey, Rogers! Over here.”

As the librarian shot their table a glare again, Natasha turned her head to find Steve smiling at Clint in recognition before crossing over to the group with a few long strides. He smiled sheepishly in greeting at the others, eyes sweeping over Natasha with a bit more warmth that she pretended not to notice as Clint introduced him to the group. As Steve sat down between her and the archer, Natasha bit down on the cap to her pen a little harder and scratched something into her paper that, when she reviewed the notes later, even _she_ had trouble deciphering.

“So, you’re Clint’s new roommate, huh?” Tony asked not long after Steve settled in. “How’s it like living with a slob?”

“You’re one to talk,” Clint quickly shot back. “ _Your_ apartment functions as a junkyard-slash-foundry.”

Tony smirked at that, but gave Steve an expectant look in lieu of a witty comeback. Steve nodded his head in response, a polite smile on his face, and Tony asked, “How do you like Stark Hall so far?”

“It’s nice,” was all Steve had to say, though Natasha could detect the genuineness in his answer.

Tony frowned. “Just ‘nice’?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to stroke Tony’s ego just a little bit more,” Natasha teased, finally tearing her eyes away from her book but still not looking at Steve. “Stark Hall’s named after his dad, after all.”

When Steve blushed, Natasha ignored the pointed look Clint gave her from across the way. “What? Oh, wait—you mean, _you’re_ Howard Stark’s son?”

“Tony Stark, at your service,” he grinned, his character quickly snapping back into place. “Really though, I’m only teasing. Stark Hall’s nothing compared to the Tower.”

All of them groaned at that, with the exception of Thor, who was smiling jovially and looking as if he was only happy that they were all together, and Steve, who had no idea what was so wrong about Stark Tower. It was a big, ugly building jutting up high in the sky in Manhattan, sure, but Steve couldn’t deny the fact that living in an actual _tower_ seemed pretty damn cool.

“What?” Tony frowned, darting his eyes around the group of students. “What’s so bad about the Tower?”

“Nothing,” Bruce, who had been mostly silent since he first arrived, pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “You just never shut up about it.”

“We’ll stop groaning and rolling our eyes when you finally _take_ us to the damn Tower instead of just talking about it all the damn time,” Clint said.

“Pep’s been there,” Tony countered in defense.

Pepper waved her finger at her engineer boyfriend. “Oh, no. You’re not bringing me into this.” She cocked her head to the side. “But Clint’s right, you’ve never taken any of the others for a tour.”

“That’s because”—Tony not-so-subtly glanced at Clint—“I don’t trust Barton not to break everything.”

Clint half-shouted, “what the hell’s that supposed to mean?” before leaning forward in his seat to glare at Tony, who was sitting back with his arms folded over his chest and an arrogant smirk on his lips. Pepper scowled at her boyfriend, thumping him in the arm for talking about their friend, while Bruce slipped on a pair of headphones to block out the noise of the argument (he got headaches pretty easily; it was a wonder why he still stuck around), and Thor stood up and put himself between the archer and the engineer as their bickering escalated. With the sounds of Thor using his loud voice to try and talk his friends down, Pepper’s high-pitched scolding of her boyfriend, Clint’s heated swears and Tony’s smart-assed jabs, Steve had nowhere else to look except at Natasha, who had gone back to reading her textbook as if chaos wasn’t erupting around them.

“Your friends are…something else,” Steve managed, though he leaned in as opposed to raising his voice so that she could hear him.

Natasha lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “You get used to it. Even so, it’ll die down in a minute.”

True to her word, Clint and Tony eventually grew tired of the argument, both of them collapsing back into their chairs and stubbornly looking off into opposite directions. For the first time that morning the table was completely silent, save for the muffled sounds of Bruce’s alternative music thumping out from under his headphones, and Steve watched the side of Natasha’s head for any further indication as to what would happen next. She never looked back, though she had to have felt his blue eyes hovering over her, and instead rolled the red cap between her lips as she reread a line of text.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the Dean?” Tony said at last, and all of them save for Natasha and Bruce looked back up at the engineer expectantly. “He lost his left eye in a fishing accident, and now he has to wear an eye patch. How badass is that?”

Clint tipped his head back in laughter. “Maybe you can put those engineering skills to good use and make him a cyborg eyeball, Stark.”

Pepper shot both of the boys a stern look. “ _Guys,_ come on, that’s insensitive.”

As Pepper went on to berate the two despite the fact that they were snickering immaturely, Natasha flipped a page in her textbook and, without so much as even glancing back at Steve, said, “Told you.”

Steve couldn’t fight the smirk that found its way on his lips, at that.

* * *

The sun had barely risen and Sam was already out on the track, a ring of sweat soaking the collar of his crewneck despite the snow crunching beneath his jogging feet. It was his morning routine, this run, and he wasn’t about to let the winter—no matter how big of a pain in the ass it was—get in the way of that, so he had set out at six thirty and made his way down to the frost-covered football field, the turf on the track hard beneath his feet. On normal days, Sam wasn’t the only one who went jogging so early, but it  _was_ the middle of winter, and he had expected to be the only one out that day. So as the sounds of rapidly approaching footsteps— _sprinting_ footsteps—sounded from behind him, you could say that Sam was a little more than surprised.

Especially as the jogger zipped right past him and warned, “On your left.”

It was odd, but Sam didn’t think much of it, nodding once as the guy booked past him at an insanely high speed that Sam figured was his way of trying to beat the cold. However, when the guy lapped him _again_ not even five minutes later with the same “on your left” squeezing past his lips, Sam looked at the guy curiously.

“Uh-huh. On my left. Got it,” he nodded wearily, not even entirely sure the guy had heard him as he sprinted ahead.

The third time he heard the man running up behind him, however, Sam decided to take things into his own hands. He picked up the speed, trying to match the guy's pace. “Don’t say it! Don’t you say it!”

It was no use, because sure enough the Olympian (Sam figured the word “jogger” was a giant understatement, at this point) was sprinting past and saying with a smirk, “On your left.”

“Oh, come on!” Sam yelled, pushing himself even more as the man rocketed down the track, leaving him in the dust—or, more appropriately, the snow. Sam didn’t even finish his lap before he collapsed against a frost-covered tree, relishing in the snow melting into his sticky back as he watched the man walk up to him, his hands on his hips and a smile on his face. He was barely even panting, while Sam was gasping for air.

“Need a medic?” The guy grinned, an amused glint in his eye.

“I need a new set of lungs,” Sam managed a weak smile. “Dude, you just ran thirteen miles in thirty minutes.”

The other guy smiled. “I guess I just got a late start.”

“Oh, really? You should be ashamed of yourself. You should take another lap,” Sam looked away, clutching his stomach, before flicking his brown eyes back to the other guy expectantly. “Did you take it? I assumed you just took it.”

“Steve Rogers,” the guy greeted after a deep chuckle, offering a hand out for Sam to shake.

“Sam Wilson,” he replied, pushing away from the tree after shaking Steve’s hand. “I’ve never seen you around the track before. You new here?”

“Recently transferred,” Steve nodded, before beginning to turn away. “Well, it’s good to meet you, Sam.”

“It’s your bed, right?”

Steve stopped walking and looked back. “What’s that?”

“Your bed, it’s too soft. Stark Hall is infamous for them.”

“Yeah, it’s like sleeping on a marshmallow,” Steve frowned. “How’d you know I’m in Stark Hall?”

Sam smiled and cocked his head to the side. “I might’ve been in the library the other day when you and your friends were having a rather loud discussion,” he said without malice, and more amusement. “And Tony Stark’s a pretty distinctive guy.”

Steve laughed. “I wouldn’t exactly call them my _friends_ , per se. More of my roommate’s friends, but they’re not so bad,”  he briefly, _briefly_ thought of Natasha, though he quickly pushed any image of her out of his mind. “But I’ll agree with you on Stark. He’s got a colorful character.”

“Had math with him my freshman year,” Sam replied. “Guy’s an underachieving genius. And that foreign dude, Thor…well, I’ll just tell you now that you don’t ever wanna be on the receiving end of a high five from him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve said, glancing over at a pack of giggling girls that had collected a few feet away. They weren’t trying to hide the fact that they had clearly come down to watch Steve.

Sam noticed, too. “You’ve already got a fan club,” he laughed. “Yeah, you’ll fit right in. I guess I should go, then. Leave you to sign autographs.” He started to turn, but caught himself a few seconds later and looked back at Steve. “But, hey, if you ever get tired of Tony rambling on about the latest StarkPhone, give me a call. I won’t hesitate to show you up on the basketball court like you just did to me on the track.”

“Alright, deal,” Steve said, leaning forward to shake Sam’s hand in parting. “And thanks for the run. If that’s what you want to call running.” He smirked.

“Oh, that’s how it is?” Sam chuckled.

Steve nodded and grinned. “That’s how it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you've all guessed who the Dean is. I'm not sure if I'll have him appear yet, though I probably will. 
> 
> Hope you guys liked it! More to come soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally really liked this chapter, and I hope you guys do too. I'd also like to, again, thank you all for the lovely reviews you've been leaving. It makes me really happy and only makes me want to write quicker and update faster.
> 
> Also, when you see dialogue written in italics and between two arrowhead looking symbols (I can't type them because it shows up as html code and disappears), it means that that person is talking in a different language. I figured it would be more convenient than having you all wait until the chapter's end notes to read what they actually said. 
> 
> With _that_ said, enjoy!

Natasha was one keen on her sleep. So, when she woke up at ten-something on a Saturday morning and stepped out into the living area of her apartment, looking as if she could still go for a couple more hours of shut eye, and found Maria stirring a cup of coffee behind the kitchen island, things were pretty much going about as usual.

Except the fact that Maria looked anxious—and Maria Hill was _never_ anxious.

Natasha immediately frowned, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and giving her roommate a slightly worried look. Maria was usually calm; not exactly stoic or cold, at least not with her friends and especially not Natasha, but there was something…off. Quickly, Natasha ran through a checklist of all of the things that could possibly be wrong. Maria was a straight-A student and never got anything but the best of grades, so school trouble was definitely out of the picture. The last boyfriend she had was when they were in their second year of college, and, after she found him making out with a random girl at a party, Maria quickly decided that she’d rather not date until she graduated—hence the reason why boy trouble was also quickly tossed out of the window. Her family was picture-perfect, and there _was_ a slight chance that that could have all been a façade and things back home were really bad, but Natasha seriously doubted that. So, with that, Natasha ran a hand through her hair and asked,

“Hey. Are you alright?”

For a moment, Maria was quiet and the only sounds that filled the room was of her spoon clinking every now and then against the inside of her coffee cup. When she finally looked up at Natasha, her eyes were full of fear and concern. “Are _you_?”

At that, Maria pointed with her eyes at the wall opposite her, and Natasha slowly followed her gaze until she was completely turned around and reading the harshly scrawled message in bleeding red spray paint that stained the living room wall like splattered blood.

_You need me._

Natasha wanted to tear her eyes away. She _wanted_ to, but she couldn’t, and she read the words over and over again despite the fact that she could hear Alexei whispering it into her ear as if he was standing right over her shoulder.

_You need me, Natasha._

“Nat?” Maria’s voice sliced through her haze like a knife. “Did he—is that—”

“I don’t know,” Natasha answered quietly, her voice slightly shaky. “But that wasn’t here last night.”

“How did he even get inside? You never gave him a key, did you?”

Natasha shook her head. “Of course not,” she closed her eyes and swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise up her throat.

“We should…we should clean this up,” Maria hesitantly stepped around the counter before slowly reaching up and squeezing Natasha’s shoulder, the small smile absent from her lips but there in her blue eyes all the same. Natasha swallowed one last time before nodding quietly at her friend, forcing her eyes back on the red message as Maria walked away to grab a couple of sponges from beneath the kitchen sink.

_You fucking_ need _me!_

* * *

For the next couple of days, at Maria’s behest, Natasha didn’t leave the apartment except to go to class, which was pretty sparse considering most of her classes had gotten canceled by her professors for one reason or the other. During that time the two women managed to clean up the graffiti, though if Natasha stared hard—which she did one time when Maria was in class and she was sitting on the couch by herself—she could still see the faint red markings where Alexei’s message had been stained into the paint. She wasn’t exactly _scared_ , per se, but she _was_ shaken up and, even more so, angry. Who did Alexei think he was, breaking in and defacing her home? What was he trying to accomplish? Did he think this would, somehow, prove his point and draw her back to him?

Natasha didn’t know the answer to any of these questions, and she probably would have driven herself crazy trying to answer them when, finally, she was granted permission to leave on her own by Maria, though there _was_ some coercing on Natasha’s part. She eventually convinced her roommate by stating that Clint would get suspicious (the two women decided that they _wouldn’t_ tell the archer about this, because he would no doubt put an arrow in Alexei before either of them finished telling him what had happened) if Natasha fell off of the face of the earth without so much as a word. She did promise Maria that she’d keep her phone nearby and off silent at all times, and that she’d immediately come home or call if she even felt the slightest bit unsafe, before finally exiting the apartment and walking down to a café near her dorm building to clear her head without risking any of her other friends finding out about Alexei and the illicit message.

That was precisely the reason why she muttered a curse under her breath when she stepped inside the café and, in the corner of the room, immediately found Steve sitting alone in a booth.

Natasha briefly considered turning around and walking back home, and, in fact, was about to do just that when Steve looked up from whatever was in front of him and gave her a broad, welcoming beam. She smiled back, lifting her hand in a small wave before deciding that she’d leave it at that, step up to the counter, order whatever she wanted, and exit shortly after without another word.

She cursed again when she found herself walking over to Steve’s table and sliding into the seat across from him, though the smirk on her lips was the total opposite of the protests running through her head.

“I hope this seat wasn’t taken.”

“Fortunately, no,” Steve quickly replied, though he blushed shortly after when he realized what he had implied. “I, uh, I mean—”

Natasha tipped her head back in a laugh. “Word of advice, Rogers: don’t ever try to take back a compliment you’ve given a girl.”

“Noted,” Steve’s ears had turned red by now, though he still managed a nod.

They briefly fell into a mostly comfortable silence, and it wasn’t until after a waitress came over to take Natasha’s order that she looked over at the Moleskine notebook lying open in front of Steve, a small pencil resting between the pages. She pointed at the pad with her chin, an intrigued glint in her eye.

“Little unconventional for a college class,” she commented, her voice calm but obviously full of amusement.

Steve chuckled. “It’s not, uh, it’s not for any class.”

“Oh?” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “What's it for, then?”

He hesitated, as if he was a little embarrassed to answer, before scratching the back of his head. “It’s a bucket list.”

“You’re not, um,” Natasha swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable, before gesturing vaguely at him across the table. “You’re not... _dying_ , are you?”

Steve laughed again, though this time a bit louder, earning them a few looks from the other diners. “No, no, nothing like that. Over the years, I’ve just put together a list of things I want to do before it’s too late. You know, from watching a certain movie ten thousand times to skydiving over New York.”

“Well, since you don’t have anything terminal and you seem like a perfectly healthy twenty-two year old, can I ask why you even have a bucket list in the first place?”

“Let’s just say, I wasn’t always healthy growing up,” Steve replied, looking down at the notebook a tad bit wistfully before bringing his eyes up to meet her own. “I had about ten different ailments, all of them year-round, and—though it may not seem like it now—I was five-foot-nothing and weighed less than a pile of rocks. I had a pretty sheltered childhood. I didn’t really get to do much.”

“Really? But you’re so… _large_ now,” Natasha said, flicking her green eyes over his broad torso, which barely fit in the space between the table and the booth’s seat. She mostly said it to make Steve blush, which it did, though it was also, quite honestly, a state of fact. Steve _was_ big; maybe not as big as Thor, but he came damn near close with his long legs and thick muscles and—

Natasha was getting ahead of herself. Thankfully, Steve was already answering, giving her a reason not to go any further down that particular road.

“Don’t ask me what happened, because I honestly have no clue. I guess I just got the rest of my puberty package pretty late because by the time I was sixteen I was no longer a puny little kid,” he continued. “And I found that out the hard way, when one morning in the shower I stood up and cracked my head open on the ceiling.”

Natasha laughed at the mental image. “Sounds _terrible_ ,” she remarked sarcastically before nodding her head at the pad again. “What have you crossed off so far?” In a swift motion, she dove forward and snatched the brown notebook in her hands, holding it out of Steve’s reach as he made a half-hearted attempt at grabbing it back from her. She narrowed her eyes as she read the numerous titles aloud.

“’Do one-hundred push-ups non-stop,’ check. ‘Bake a whole cake. Eat a whole cake,’ check—and, wow, Rogers, were you _that_ sheltered as a kid?” Steve blushed as Natasha sent him a teasing look before turning back to continue reading. “Hmm. Let’s see. ‘Ride the Ferris Wheel at Coney Island,’ check. ‘Learn French,’ check. Really? Prove it.”

Steve looked at her, eyes boring into her pleadingly. “< _Could you please give me my notebook back now?_ >”

“No,” Natasha smirked playfully, ignoring the surprised look on his face as she fluently picked up on what he had said and instead turning to the notebook again. “Oh, this one isn’t crossed out,” she furrowed her eyebrows as she read it in her mind, before looking at Steve curiously as she read it again out loud. “’Go Dancing’? You mean, you’ve never been dancing?”

Steve shrugged, a sheepish look on his face. “Asthma was one of my many conditions, so….”

“So, you don’t even _know_ how to dance,” Natasha finished as he nodded. “Wow, soldier. There’s a lot you’ve got to cram in before you’re all old and gray.”

When Steve reached over for his notebook again, Natasha didn’t bother fighting back and let him slip it from her fingers. “Well, I don’t exactly have a crowd of dance partners lining up outside my door, and I’m sure as hell not going out and renting a DVD. I don’t need Clint walking in on something horrifyingly embarrassing.”

Natasha snorted a laugh. “If that happened, you’d never live it down,” she replied. And then, without even as much as thinking about it, she blurted out, “I could teach you, if you want.”

Never in her life had she wanted to cram a sentence back down her throat as much as she did then.

“Uh, it’s okay,” Steve blushed again and rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, if it’s no big deal….”

_That’s it. Take the out, Natasha._ “Really, it’s no problem. I’d hate to see you embarrass yourself at a party sometime in the near future, not when people know that you’re my friend. I have a reputation to maintain, Rogers.”

She could kick herself. Why was she putting herself in this situation? Why couldn’t she stop _talking_?

“Well, you’ll see me embarrassed sooner than that when I step on your toes,” Steve chuckled.

Natasha shrugged. “I’ve suffered worse than some bruised toes, trust me.” She didn’t give Steve enough time to ask further about that. “Just meet me at the dance hall tomorrow at seven p.m., and _don’t_ be late.”

Steve smirked as she pointed a finger at his chest. “Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

Steve liked to consider himself a pretty punctual guy. However, when the time came the following day for him to leave for his date—meeting? Lesson? Hangout?—with Natasha, it seemed as if everything in the universe was trying to stop him from getting to the dance hall on time.

For starters, he had underestimated the weather outside so when he pushed past the front doors to Stark Hall, he was almost turned into a human icicle, causing him to immediately go back to his dorm to throw on a few more layers and a scarf. After that, and standing in the lobby for a few seconds to gear up the courage to venture out in the freezing temperatures, Steve got caught up with a guy from his art history class who asked if he could borrow his lecture notes. Of course, Steve obliged, and he, once again, went back to his dorm to retrieve them. By the time Steve _finally_ left Stark Hall it was already a quarter to seven, and he still had to cross the distance from the dormitory to the dance hall.

When Steve did get there, he was relieved to find that the building was heated, because his teeth were chattering and he couldn’t feel his ears. However, he still found the will to walk as he traveled further into the hall, poking his head into open doors until he finally caught sight of a familiar whirl of red hair in a small studio at the very end of the corridor.

And the image before him nearly took his breath away.

Natasha moved like water, her toes pointed as she, eyes closed, twirled in a perfectly executed _fouetté_ , before sliding across the room in a series of spins and turns without coming into contact with the floor for more than a fraction of a second. Steve watched as she danced until she suddenly stopped, poising her body in an _arabesque_ , holding that position for a few moments before fluidly sweeping her leg out in front of her and righting herself on the flats of her feet. Her eyes were still shut as Steve watched her angle her head forward and toward the floor, slowly falling at ease.

“You’re late, Rogers.”

Steve snapped to attention, not realizing that he had leaned against the doorframe as he was so enraptured by watching Natasha dance. He immediately felt the blush creep up his neck, though he attempted to ignore it as he stammered through an apology. “I—I’m sorry, I was…you practice ballet?”

Natasha finally opened her eyes, looking at him through the floor-to-ceiling mirrors lining the wall before her. She appeared impeccably collected, as if she hadn’t just been performing ballet moves that even _Steve_ knew had to be difficult, before flicking her eyes to a clock on a wall. “Twenty minutes late, in fact.”

Steve crossed over to her, but only because the barely hidden teasing look on her face told him that she wasn’t actually mad. “Natasha. You’re, uh…” He let out a huff of air, eyebrows raised. “You’re _really_ good.”

“I’m a bit rusty,” she lifted a shoulder in a shrug and brushed a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her messy bun away from her face. “But we’re not here to brush up on _my_ skills. Show me what you’ve got, soldier.”

Steve stuttered. “No, well, I don’t think—I’m not…” He looked embarrassingly at the floor. “I’m really bad.”

“Please,” Natasha scoffed. “You’ve never seen Clint dance. Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

He hesitated for a bit, shuffling his weight from side to side, and Natasha was rolling her eyes by the time he began to glance toward the door as if he was going to make a run for it any second. With a sigh, Natasha stepped forward and gently grabbed Steve’s hands in her own, searching his eyes for confirmation—he gave her a small nod—before placing one of his hands on her hip and wrapping the other one in her own. Steve let out a small breath through his nose as Natasha’s palm slid into his, though she pretended not to notice as she stared him straight in the eye, moving on to the next instruction.

“Keep your hand right on my hip, got it?” Steve nodded, and Natasha suddenly pulled a small remote from god knew where and turned on a stereo across the room. A slow forties-era jazz song filled the room, and Steve felt his shoulders relax a bit as the soothing tones floated in the air around them. “Now, just sway with the music. Don’t overthink it, and don’t look down. You’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Steve swallowed, resisting the urge to do just that— _look down._ Natasha must have caught his hesitation, because she gave him a look that made him feel bad for wanting to go against her instruction. She didn’t say anything though, and instead started them off with a gentle, back-and-forth sway to the sounds of Ella Fitzgerald’s voice.

She slowly gave the lead back to Steve, which he definitely noticed and almost instantly panicked over, and Natasha instinctively soothed her fingers along the nape of his neck.

Later, when she got home, she kicked herself for this.

“Relax, Steve,” Natasha laughed quietly, despite the fact that she was mentally cursing herself a thousand times over. “Here, just talk to me. It’ll keep you from thinking too hard.” She smiled as Steve nodded silently, looking as if he was already overthinking things. “So, what made you want to learn how to dance in the first place? It’s not exactly a conventional thing nowadays.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, it’s kind of embarrassing, actually.”

“What _don’t_ you think is embarrassing about you?” She lifted an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I run pretty fast.” He joked.

Natasha laughed wholeheartedly. “Is that it?”

Steve shrugged. “I make a mean corned beef and cabbage. I could make you some, sometime.”

“I just might have to take you up on that offer, with the way the weather has been as of late,” she tilted her head to the side. “But seriously. Why’d you want to learn how to dance?”

Steve paused, looking over her shoulder as if he’d rather not answer. Natasha opened her mouth to tell him that he didn’t have to tell her if he really didn't want to, but he was already speaking before she could say anything.

“My ex-girlfriend, Peggy,” he began, and Natasha couldn’t help but lower her eyes in realization as to where this was going. “She liked to dance, but she moved back to England before she could teach me. So, I guess, this was my homage to her.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha offered.

“It’s alright,” he shrugged. “Not everyone’s first is their last, I guess. It’s just a part of growing up.” Steve paused as they danced, seemingly swaying automatically and probably without even realizing it. A small, wistful smile crossed his face. “We kept in touch for a while after that, but it kind of gets hard when you live in two different time zones.”

“You miss her?”

“Of course. But as long as she’s happy, I’m happy. So I’m okay,” he easily replied.

Natasha smiled. “That’s a good way to go about life.” Steve hummed before slowly bringing his eyes back to hers, his expression suddenly soft as he searched her green orbs with his own. Natasha knew that her face was unreadable, and she wanted to keep it like that before she found herself doing something she knew she would later regret. With that, she pointedly broke off eye contact with him and gestured with her chin at his feet. “You’re a natural, Rogers.”

Steve’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly. “Well, I have a good teacher.”

“Here,” Natasha said, forcing herself to move away and towards his jacket draped over a chair. She reached in and grabbed his brown notebook and little pencil, opening it before handing them both for Steve to grab. “You can now cross it off the list.”

Steve took the book, striking a line right through the title at the bottom of the page, before closing the pad with a muffled _thump_ and beaming broadly up at Natasha. “Thanks. I mean it.”

“No problem,” she shrugged. “It’s another thing about yourself you don’t have to be embarrassed about.”

“Bragging rights,” Steve nodded.

“Maybe you could even give Stark’s bigheadedness a run for his money,” Natasha scrunched her nose. “God knows he has enough of it.”

Steve chuckled, shrugging on his jacket as Natasha pulled on a pair of jeans over the black tights she had been wearing during their dance. He waited patiently for her to get dressed, pulling a sweater over her tank top before yanking on another coat on top of that. By the time they exited the dance hall and stepped back out into the snow, Natasha looked appropriately bundled for the weather, though her teeth were chattering and she was practically shivering out of her clothes.

Steve wasn’t faring much better, though that didn’t stop him from following Natasha as she broke off from the dance hall’s main entrance and toward her dorm building. She quickly realized Steve hadn’t left and twisted around with an eyebrow raised. “What’re you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m walking you back home.”

Natasha frowned. “I’m not making you walk all the way in the opposite direction of your own apartment, especially not in this weather. Despite what Clint might’ve told you, I’m not completely evil.”

Steve didn’t relent. “Natasha, really, it’s fine. It’s the least I could do to thank you for teaching me how to dance.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” she pressed, turning around and walking a few feet ahead of him. However, as a particularly strong gust of wind picked up and blew her hair in her face, she turned to look at him again. “How about this: you make me a big, heaping pot of that corned beef and cabbage you claim you’re such a pro at, and we’re even. Deal?”

“But—” Steve began, only to let out a defeated sigh as Natasha glared daggers at him. “Fine. Deal.”

“Good,” she replied sternly, before cracking a grin as she shook her head in disbelief. “Jesus, Rogers, you’re so self-sacrificing.”

“It’s a good way to live,” he called, still standing on the sidewalk in front of the dance hall as she turned around and continued down the pathway.

Natasha let out an ironic laugh, waving a hand over her shoulder. “Whatever you say, soldier.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: minor spoilers for season 3 of Game of Thrones? I don't think it'll be much of a problem, but it doesn't hurt to warn. 
> 
> As always, enjoy (and, of course, thank you for the reviews)!

Over the next couple of days Natasha spent most of her time hanging out with Clint and Steve at their apartment, watching movies when it was too cold out—even by _that_ winter’s standards—or eating themselves sick at Natasha and Clint’s favorite Japanese restaurant, which they introduced to their new friend when he admitted that he didn’t know how to use chopsticks. Natasha easily demonstrated how to eat with them before watching amusedly—eventually bursting into full-out laughter alongside Clint—when Steve accidently broke a pair of chopsticks in half as he attempted to pick up a piece of teriyaki beef. By the end of the night, though, Steve was a professional, making Natasha realize that the man was a natural learner at more things than just dancing.

She was currently sprawled out on the boys’ living room couch, her head resting against Clint’s lower thigh and her legs kicked up on Steve’s lap. Beside him sat his friend Sam, whom he had introduced to the archer and the redhead a few days prior, and they were all in the midst of a Game of Thrones marathon when a knock sounded from the door. Sam immediately volunteered to answer it, pushing up off of the sofa and opening the door a few seconds later.

Maria, who had been waiting on the other side, blinked up at him confusedly before glancing over to the trio sitting on the couch. “Who’s this guy?”

“That’s Steve’s boyfriend,” Clint joked from where he was sitting, earning a light punch—that _still_ had Clint wincing—in the arm from Steve. “Nah, I'm kidding. That’s Sam.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sam smiled, and Natasha couldn’t help but notice that there was a bit more warmth to his greeting than most of the guys who had met Maria in the past.

What was even more surprising, however, was how her roommate almost mimicked the beam back. “Maria,” she answered as way of greeting, before noticeably forcing her gaze back into the room and on to Natasha. “You ready?”

“You’re leaving? But we’re in the middle of the Red Wedding,” Steve practically gasped, gesturing at the television. “You can’t just _leave_ during the Red Wedding.”

“Clearly,” Natasha pointedly said, wrinkling her nose as one of the main characters, a redheaded guy, was impaled right through the chest. She swung her feet on to the ground and began putting on her jacket and shoes. “Are you sure it’s just about the show, Rogers? Or are you simply gonna miss me?”

Steve blushed at her shameless teasing. “Huh? No, it’s—I, um—”

Clint tipped his head back in a loud laugh, clapping his hand down on the other man’s shoulder. “Stop while you can, man. There’s no beating her on this one.”

As Steve obediently snapped his mouth shut and turned the color of a ripe tomato, Sam came back to nudge his friend playfully on the arm. “Hey, we’ll have a boys’ night. Crack open the beer and order a shitload of pizza.”

Natasha rolled her eyes as Clint visibly brightened. “Have fun, fellas. Don’t get too inebriated and do something reckless, like invite Stark over.”

* * *

_“Hey, man. How’s the college life going?”_  


_Steve chuckled into the phone’s receiver. “I’ve been in the ‘college life’ for three years now, Buck. Now all I am is stressed and impatient.”_

_It was Bucky’s turn to laugh, though Steve detected the small amount of concern in his best friend’s voice on the other line. Leave it to Bucky, always worrying about Steve even though he wasn’t so small anymore._

_“What, you mean you actually do_ work _in college? I thought it was all parties and getting laid,” Bucky said, and Steve didn’t have to see him to know he had a mischievous smirk plastered all over his face._

_“Maybe for you, if you were here,” he replied. “Hey, how’s the family? How’re your ma and the girls?”_

_“Oh, they’re fine. Rebecca’s got herself a punk of a boyfriend, but I made it clear that if he tries anything funny with her that I’d kick his ass in a heartbeat.”_

_Steve grinned. “So, basically, if he tries to act like how you would with a girl?”_

_“Precisely,” Bucky grinned, too. “But, anyway, Ma misses you. You know how that goes, though. You’re like her second son. And she’s worried that if you don’t eat enough, you’ll turn into the twig of a kid you were when we were thirteen.”_

_“I do miss her cooking, but I’m eating fine, I promise. Tell her I’m alright. I’ve made some friends—they keep me well-fed enough.”_

_“Oh, yeah? Like who?”_

_Steve shrugged, even though Bucky couldn’t see him. “Just a couple of people. My roommate’s friends, mostly.”_

_Bucky knew that that wasn’t the whole story. “You always were a crappy liar, Stevie. There’s a girl, isn’t there?”_

_“Well,” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “No, there isn’t. Not exactly.”_

_“There either is a girl, or there isn’t a girl, buddy.”_

_“Fine, fine,” Steve sighed exasperatingly. “There’s a girl.”_

_“Ha, I knew it!” Bucky quickly replied, sounding proud. “Well, what’s her name?”_

_Steve glanced around to check if he was still home alone. When the coast was clear, he answered quietly, “Natasha.”_

_“Yeah, and what’s she like?”_

_“She’s nice. Funny. Smart. Pretty,” Steve ticked off, “But she’s also kind of out of my league, so—”_

_Bucky swore from the other line. “Are you kidding, man? You’re not the small, punk-of-kid you were all those years ago. Well, alright, you’re still a punk, but that’s not the point.”_

_“Jerk,” Steve countered with a smile._

_“Look, what I’m saying is, you’ve got some actual physical attributes going for you now. It’s about time you used them to your advantage. Coupled with the fact that you’re irritatingly smart, instantly loved by parents, and make corny jokes that chicks love all the damn time?” Bucky whistled. “You’re practically marriage material.”_

_Steve laughed. “I didn’t realize you became a relationship counselor while I was away.”_

_“Don’t be a smartass,” Bucky replied, laughter in his voice. “And I’m trying to be serious!_   _This is a rare moment—I’m never serious. Just ask the girl out, alright? It can’t hurt. And what if she says yes?”_

_“What if she doesn’t?”_

_“Then you suck it up,” Bucky said. “What, you can take multiple punches to the face from guys twice your size but you can’t handle rejection from a lady?”_

_Steve sighed. “It’s not that simple, Buck. At least, not for me. I don’t have all that natural charm that you do.”_

_“Like hell you don’t. Don’t give me any of that crap,” his best friend shot back, before letting out an impatient huff of breath. “You know what? Fine. Don’t listen to me, you stubborn son of a bitch. I’ve gotta go help Becca cook dinner now before she burns the potatoes. I’ll talk to you later.”_

_Steve chuckled and right before Bucky ended the call, said, “I love ya, too, Buck.”_

* * *

Natasha rubbed her eyes tiredly with the sleeve of her sweater, letting out a small puff of breath and watching as it formed a little gray cloud before her eyes. It was still pretty chilly, but not cold enough to the point that standing outside was unbearable as long as you were properly and positively bundled, which was exactly the reason why the young redhead was currently standing in the campus’ quad wearing layers upon layers of clothes, flanked on either side by a very annoyed Clint and irksomely wide-awake Steve.  
__

“Christ, Stark, why the hell do you have us up so early? We’re just waiting around for nothing,” Clint was complaining, looking as if he wished he'd brought his handy bow and arrow along so he could stick a few in his millionaire friend’s torso.

Tony, who looked just as awake as Steve despite the fact that it was barely even seven thirty in the morning, waved his hand dismissively at his friend. “Patience, man, patience,” he said. “And it’s always good to have a fresh start to the day. Gives you more time to be productive.”

Natasha scoffed disbelievingly. “Says the guy who once went on a four-day bender and didn’t wake up for two more days after that once he got home.”

“You two are so damn technical,” Tony narrowed his eyes before gesturing at the tall blond standing with his hands in his pockets to her left. “You don’t see Rogers here complaining, do you?”

“That’s because the guy can run on four hours of sleep and still function,” Clint replied. “Excuse me and Nat for being _normal_ humans.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Steve grumbled, though he wasn’t really offended.

Pepper, who had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since they first got to the quad fifteen minutes prior, heaved an impatient sigh and practically glared daggers at her boyfriend. Natasha couldn’t deny that she looked worse for wear; her strawberry blonde strands were tangled from not only sleep, but also the wind, and she still looked thoroughly exhausted with the dark circles rimming her blue eyes.

“Seriously, Tony, can’t you just tell us what’s going on? I was up late doing homework last night and I’m seriously contemplating lying down on the sidewalk and going back to sleep.” The young woman snapped.

“I know, P—” He briefly paused as Pepper shot him another glare and instead said, “Okay, I _didn’t_ know that, but it’ll be good, trust me. And you won’t have to wait long, the others are coming now.”

They all turned around to see their equally tired and disgruntled-looking friends—except, of course, a very upbeat Thor—approaching. Maria, who had come from her and Natasha’s dorm alone since the latter had spent the night at Clint’s house eating the pot of corned beef and cabbage Steve had earlier promised to make her, appeared to be just as irritated as Pepper, though she was also doing a better job at hiding it. Walking next to her was Jane, who was practically attached to Thor at the hip and probably using his body warmth as her own personal heater, while the foreigner himself had one of his thick arms wrapped around her shoulders. On Maria’s other side was Sam, the man having easily befriended the rest of the group and, most especially, Maria _herself_ , but Natasha hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to her roommate much about that particular topic. Bruce was catching up behind them, having just said goodbye to a pretty brown-haired woman whom Natasha had never seen before, though she couldn’t help but be a little intrigued at the fact that Bruce actually seemed like he was _flirting_ with the girl.

Apparently, Tony was interested too. “Who was that, Banner?” He raised an eyebrow.

Despite the fact that he had just been smiling at the girl, more so than he ever did in the presence of his own _friends_ , Bruce was now looking as relaxed—and maybe even a little bored—as ever. His shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “Her name’s Betty. She’s a girl from my physics class.”

Tony looked as if he was about to question further when the sounds of a car honking sounded from behind him, a shiny black limo pulling up in front of the group. Tony lifted his arms at his sides and beamed, “We’re going on a field trip, folks!”

The group grumbled before Jane added, “Is it at least someplace warm?”

Tony nodded. “It has a state of the art heating system, yes.”

“Alright, then. We’re in,” Maria quickly said before the entire group moved to shuffle into the limousine, leaving Tony staring at them with an irritated expression on his usually smug face.

“Don’t you guys even want to know where we’re going?”

* * *

“I swear to god, Tony. You woke me up at seven a.m. just to take us _here_?”

As the group climbed out of the black limo and stared up at the giant building that was Stark Tower, Pepper crossed her arms over her chest and looked as if she was about two seconds away from murdering her boyfriend in broad daylight. Though Tony didn’t appear outwardly intimidated, Natasha did notice that he stepped a little closer to Thor.

“You guys said that I always brag about the Tower but never take you here. So, here we are,” he gestured enthusiastically at the structure before them.

Pepper looked as if she was about to argue, but then shut her mouth and moved further away from him, wedging herself between Maria and Jane.

“I have a full day planned out for us, team,” Tony said, leading them past the Tower’s front doors and into the lobby. “My dad’s somewhere across the world on business, so we don’t have to worry about him souring up the place. Though, it’s not like we’d even run into him if he _was_ here, considering there’s nearly sixty floors and his office’s on the tippity-top.”

Though the lot of them were less than ecstatic to be on a “field trip” to a place that wasn’t even a thirty minutes away from their college campus, by the next hour most of them had warmed up to the Tower and had started to see why Tony talked about it so much. They ate a nice breakfast in a large room that could emulate whatever setting the party dining wanted, so after Tony issued a few commands to an unknown entity in the ceiling, the group found themselves enjoying mimosas and frittatas and essentially whatever else they wanted on a sunny morning in Monaco. As the group chatted and laughed and complained about their college professors, Natasha couldn’t help but notice Steve sitting in his own little world a seat diagonal from her, doodling something on a napkin with a ballpoint pen he must’ve already had on him. She didn’t think much of it at that point, but then the group advanced to the indoor pool—despite Bruce’s protests that they shouldn't swim on full stomachs and Tony waving him off shortly thereafter—and instead of joining them in the warm water, Steve sat off to the side, kicked back in a lounge and brow creased in concentration as he continued making edits to whatever he was drawing on the napkin.

Natasha, who had been lounging with the rest of the girls on the other side of the pool, finally got up to go ask Steve what he was sketching when, suddenly, Clint wrapped a hand around her leg and tugged her down into the water. Clint was, essentially, the only person who had the balls to mess with Natasha, though that didn’t mean he didn’t raise his hands in defense when she resurfaced seconds later and gave him a look so frightening that Thor even thought it wise to keep his distance for the time being. In a lightning-fast motion, Natasha’s fist connected flat with Clint’s nose, though not hard enough to break it, and she would have delivered the same treatment to a hysterical Tony, but she decided that the bout of stomach cramps that overtook him seconds later was sufficient enough payback all on its own.

“That’s what you get,” Pepper called from her seat, not looking up from her magazine as she casually turned a page.

For the rest of the day, Natasha continued to observe Steve drawing on that same napkin out of the corner of her eye; catching him shading a bit here and there while they were all supposed to be watching a movie in one of the Tower’s multiple built-in theatres, or sketching a few lines when Tony and Clint got into another pointless argument during lunch. All the while, Natasha never got a view of exactly what he was drawing, and it bothered her to no end. It also bothered her that he hadn’t really been paying attention ever since they first arrived at the Tower, and still hadn’t been called out on it yet. Surely, she couldn’t have been the only one noticing this, could she?

A very small, very _annoying_ voice in the back of Natasha’s mind told her that the reason why she was the only person noticing any of this was because she was also the only person who had been watching Steve non-stop since that morning.

She cursed that small, annoying voice all to hell. She was just curious—as to what he could possibly be drawing, of course—and that was it.

It wasn’t until lunch was over and Tony and Clint had gone back to being friends again that they moved on to the Tower’s art collection, which took up an entire floor and was filled wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling with any type of art you could imagine, though most of them were paintings that Natasha had never heard of in her life. She liked art enough—it wasn’t really something she dedicated her time to studying, and she wasn’t always sure what she was looking at when it came to these types of things, but she did know how to appreciate it. Apparently, Steve knew how too. In fact, he was currently doing more than just appreciating—the guy was in total _awe_.

Natasha broke off from the others, who were mostly talking amongst themselves or lounging about in a set of chairs gathered in a central area on the floor, and walked up to Steve, nudging him playfully in the arm with her own as she stepped up at his side. He briefly turned his head to look at her, smiling faintly, before bringing his attention back to the painting hanging on the wall in front of him. They stood in silence for a few seconds as Natasha, too, observed the painting, her eyes immediately going to the figure painted on the left with nothing but a skull as a head. The colors associated with the form were somber and dark, all blacks and purples and blues, and it didn’t take a genius to guess that this figure was Death. However, what was most intriguing was the cluster of people huddled off to the side of it, seemingly disregarding of the threat it posed. Their faces, content and relaxed, even though they had Death looming over them. They were so at ease because, Natasha soon realized, they had each other.

“What do you think of it?”

Natasha blinked once before sweeping her eyes up and on Steve’s profile. He hadn’t looked away from the painting yet. “It’s…interesting. Sort of bittersweet, but interesting.”

“ _Death and Life,_ ” Steve said, and even though the title was engraved on a gold-plated plaque right beneath the painting, he voiced it as if he already had it memorized.

“It’s very intimate. Serene,” Natasha noted, watching as Steve lowered his eyes in the slightest and bowed his head in agreement. He looked sad, or at least melancholic. Maybe even touched. When she spoke next, Natasha’s voice was much softer. “This painting means a lot to you.”

Steve let out a deep sigh, finally looking away from the painting and at his shoes. “As you already know, death is not an unfamiliar concept in my family,” he said, and Natasha resisted the urge to murmur, _yeah, me too._ “But...I had people to help me get through it. Like here,” he motioned at the cluster of huddled forms in the painting, “these people...they could be mourning, or they could be comforting. But either way, they’re here for one another.”

She watched as Steve seemingly looked _past_ the painting. “I was little when my dad died; my mom raised me on her own. We were close—closer than close. I was seventeen when she got cancer. Eighteen when she died.” Natasha couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at his words, though she was silent as he continued. “When she died, I was…I was lost. Devastated. But I had my best friend there with me the whole time—‘ _you and me, till the end of the line,_ ’ he used to say. He still does. His family informally adopted me after my mom passed. They were _there_ for me, helped me.”

“I’m glad you didn’t have to go through it alone,” Natasha said quietly. “Nobody should be put through that.”

Steve couldn’t help but feel like she was speaking from experience.

“Yeah,” he said softly, blue eyes tracing Natasha’s profile curiously. She usually hid her emotions behind snarky comebacks and teasing smirks, but Steve could see the sadness swimming in her green eyes. He could see how the line of her body was the slightest bit tense, as if she was afraid that a strong breeze would come into the room and topple her over. He could see that she was trying very, _very_ hard not to let him pity her.

Which was probably why she suddenly turned her head, a small smile on her lips that didn’t exactly reach her eyes, and pointedly indicated at the corner of the napkin sticking out of his pants’ pocket. “Couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been distracted all day.”

It took Steve a moment to gather himself, to shove away the tempting thought of telling her that it was _okay_ to open up to him. Thank god he had some semblance of self-restraint, because he wasn’t sure how Natasha would have acted at that, though it probably would have been along the lines of pushing him far, far away.  


And that was the last thing he wanted.

So, he swallowed thickly, and slipped the napkin out of his pocket. “Um, yeah,” he muttered dumbly. “I was just doodling.”

“Can I see it?”

Steve shrugged. He didn’t like how easily she was shutting her emotions out, but there was nothing he could do but play along. It made him sad, though he hid it behind a small smile as he handed over the napkin for Natasha to look over. “Sure.”

It wasn’t the _Mona Lisa,_ by far, but it was _good_ —even for something that had been doodled on a napkin and with a blue ink pen. It was a drawing of the entire group at breakfast, the rest of which Steve must have sketched from memory over the course of the rest of the day. Tony and Clint were sitting across from one another, mouths open as, Natasha guessed, they traded their usual good-natured jabs back-and-forth. Pepper was sitting beside Tony, eyes closed and mouth tipped open as she slept with a croissant clutched in her hand, and even though Natasha grinned at that, she knew if Pepper ever saw the drawing she’d probably demand a re-sketch. Thor was drawn mid-laugh, booming wholeheartedly with his mouth open and full of half-chewed food—just like he always did when they all ate meals together. Sam and Maria were laughing, too, though at something entirely unrelated, and Bruce was sitting at the head of the table, headphones hanging loosely around his neck as he engaged in a—probably—scientific debate with Jane.

And then Natasha’s eyes fell to herself. She was sitting smack dab in the middle of the drawing, like she had been at the table, and her eyes were in the midst of being rolled in her head, though there was an affectionate smirk tilted on her lips. She couldn’t remember what she was rolling her eyes at, couldn’t even remember doing it in the first place, but apparently, Steve had caught it—which surprised her, considering she spent most of the meal watching him and doing nothing else. That didn’t stop her from grinning down at the drawing, though; her fingers briefly gliding over the indents the pen had made as Steve sketched the lines and contours of their faces and the different emotions splayed on them. And it was _realistic_ , all of them laughing or teasing or smiling. They were all together; weren’t alone. They…they _had one another_ —just like the people in the painting on the wall.

And then Natasha frowned. “You’re not in here.”

“What?”

“You didn’t draw yourself,” she elaborated, pointing at a space between Sam and Thor where Steve had been sitting at breakfast but was absent from the actual drawing.

“Oh,” he blushed, shrugging. “I don’t…I don’t usually draw myself. _Never_ draw myself, actually.”

Natasha’s eyes lingered on him briefly, making his face color a deeper shade of red, before she placed the napkin back in his palm. “Well, either way, you’re _really_ good, Steve. And I’m being serious, not just nice.” She smirked at him. “Even though I’m _always_ nice.”

Steve chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, slightly uncomfortable under her praise. “Thank you. It really means a lot.”

The two of them stood there silently for a bit after that, smiling contentedly as they observed the other paintings hanging up on the wall. It wasn’t long until Tony found them, however; interrupting their comfortable silence with an obnoxious whistle that had Natasha rolling her eyes like in Steve’s drawing—though without the affectionate smile, this time.

“Come on, lovebirds! We’ve got a game of laser tag to play. Loser gets shot in the ass by one of Barton’s arrows.”

“Are you being serious?” Steve asked, apprehensive.

Tony only gave him a mischievous grin before whirling around and leaving the room.

Steve turned to look at the redhead standing next to him. “He’s joking, right?”

When Natasha gave him a mischievous grin of her own and walked out of the room without another word, Steve couldn’t help but think that she was _way_ more intimidating than Stark ever could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_Death and Life_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_and_Life#/media/File:Gustav_Klimt_-_Death_and_Life_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg), by Gustav Klimt.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter is a little shorter than the others, but it builds up to something that I'm very excited to share with you guys soon. I promise that the next chapter will be longer, probably way longer than the others, but this 'filler' chapter was needed.

“What the hell spurred this on, anyway?”

Natasha watched her best friend half-amusedly, half-impatiently as he fumbled with the professional-style camera in his hands for the millionth time that morning, cursing under his breath as he adjusted the settings with a huff of breath. She was currently sitting on his sofa, a flat expression on her face as she waited for Clint to stop fussing over everything already. Steve was sitting next to her, their bodies close so that they could fit comfortably into the picture’s frame, and the fact that their arms and knees were touching was definitely not lost on him.

When he glanced at Natasha out of the corner of his eye, she didn’t look as nearly as flustered as he felt—just bored.

“A kid I had a class with, Peter, works for the campus’ paper as a photographer. He showed me some of the stuff he’s taken and I thought it was pretty cool,” Clint explained without looking away from the camera’s preview screen. “And plus, I need another hobby besides archery. My walls are getting too spotty with holes, and I figured I could cover them up with these.”

“Or you could just go to the range like a normal person,” Natasha pointed out, smoothing her red hair behind her shoulder. “I’m sure Steve gets tired of hearing you assault your bedroom’s walls like a sociopath.”

“He’s no better!” Clint accused, scoffing incredulously.

Steve frowned. “What’re you talking about? My room’s clean.”

“Yeah, and that’s why nearly every piece of furniture in there is stained with paint,” Clint drawled flatly.

“Not _everything_ , just.…” As he failed to come up with some sort of defense, Clint waggled a finger at him.

“We’re two men driven by our interests,” he said. “I’m sure Nat has ballerina tutus scattered all over _her_ place.”

Natasha scowled and hurled a pillow at his head, though she was smiling as he barely managed to duck out of the way and instead finished altering the camera’s settings with a laugh. “I’m _kidding_ ,” Clint grinned, holding the camera up again. “Alright, one last time, I promise. Wait—wow, you guys are _really_ stiff. Rogers, put your arm around her.”

“What?” Steve instantly colored.

Natasha rolled her eyes, lifting Steve’s hand from where it rest on his thigh and lifting his heavy arm over her head. She draped it over her shoulders, gathering her hair out from under his weight, before relaxing into his side without so much as even looking at him.

“Better?” She asked Clint.

Clint smirked at Steve’s momentary shock before saying, “ _Perfect_.”

* * *

“What’s up with you and Steve?”

Natasha looked up from the book she was reading, green eyes immediately going to Maria, who was mirroring the way she was sitting on the other side of their couch. Maria was already watching her, apparently having abandoned studying for the time being, and was giving her roommate _the look_.

Natasha herself had a signature look. She didn’t exactly know how it appeared when she did it, just that it scared all of the guys and came in handy when she wanted to screw with—or conversely, didn’t want to be bothered by—them. Pepper had one, as well, but it was mostly only used on Stark. However, _Maria’s_ look was icy and no nonsense, relaying the perfectly clear message of “if you know what’s best for you, you better not lie to me.”

Apparently, the redhead didn’t know what was best for her.

“Nothing. We’re friends,” she wasn’t entirely sure it was a lie, but she knew it wasn’t exactly the truth either. In fact, Natasha honestly had no idea what was going on between her and Steve; wasn’t even sure she _wanted_ to know, at that, which was exactly why she quickly turned the conversation away from her. “What’s up with you and _Sam_?”

Maria blinked, the look disappearing from her face, before she glanced down at the textbook lying open in her lap. The hesitation was brief, however, and when she looked back up at Natasha she was wearing a small smirk.

“Touché.”

* * *

It was a wonder that the group hadn’t been officially banned from the library yet, because as Tony slammed the doors open and loudly announced his presence to his friends, the librarian practically hissed between her teeth as she shot the young engineer a very ferocious glare. What was worse was that Tony actually grinned back, blowing the old woman a kiss before winking at her through his sunglasses, and strolled over to his usual seat next to Pepper without a worry in the world. As he plopped down, he had a look on his face that told the group that he had something “juicy”—his term and _definitely_ not something even remotely used by the others—to tell all of them.

“So, guess what I just witnessed?”

Pepper was the one to flatly reply. “What?”

“No fun,” Tony pouted, before quickly bouncing back and adding, “You guys know that chick Banner was talking to the other day? You know, before we left for the Tower?”

The rest of them grumbled in affirmation.

“Well, _I_ just caught them making out behind the science building.”

This time, Pepper’s voice sounded more shocked, if not enthusiastic. “ _What_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Tony grinned, nodding ardently. “I got bored and left class early and, _bam_ , there they were. Necking right beside the dumpster.”

Natasha scrunched her nose. “Gross.”

“Betty is a beautiful woman,” Thor nodded, a broad smile on his face. “I am happy for Banner.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You guys are terrible gossips.”

“I think that’s the point, Stark,” Steve smirked, not looking up from the pad he was currently sketching on.

“Whatever,” Tony waved his hand. “We have more important stuff to discuss, anyway. Winter break’s coming up. You guys got any plans?”

Clint, who had been spinning a dull arrowhead on a blank page in his notebook, was the first one to answer. “I’m going to Bobbi’s house, back in Pennsylvania. I’m meeting her folks.”

Tony gave him a pained look. “Ooh. Good luck.”

“I don’t need luck,” Clint smirked. “Unlike you, parents actually like me.”

As Natasha scoffed and Tony mocked him, Thor spoke up next. “My parents are visiting from Europe. We are venturing up north to visit my brother, Loki. I have not seen him in a while, and I am looking forward to this vacation.”

“Since when have you had a brother?” Clint asked.

“My parents adopted him when I was a young boy,” Thor replied, before turning to face the artist of the group. “What of you, Steven? Do you have any plans for this upcoming break?”

Steve shrugged as all eyes turned on him. “I’m not going far, not like any of you guys. I was just gonna spend it with my best friend and his family.”

Tony clucked his tongue. “Well, me and _Pep_ are going to St. Barths. I’m going to be positively sauced for two weeks straight.”

“Natasha, are you _sure_ you don’t want to come with us?” Pepper asked, turning to her friend and giving her a kind smile. Natasha didn’t pull away as the other woman placed her hand on top of hers and squeezed gently. “Tony’s got more than enough money to pay for an extra person.”

Natasha was already shaking her head. “I’m fine, Pepper, really. But thank you. Maria’s only going to be gone for a week, so I won’t be alone the entire break. It’ll be nice to have some time to myself.”

“Alright, if you say so. But the offer still stands on the table if you change your mind,” Pepper replied, albeit a little hesitantly. She quite honestly looked as if she was about to force Natasha to accept, despite the soft smile on her face.

“I’ll be okay,” the redhead added for good measure. “And besides, by the way Tony’s looking at you right now, I already know I’m going to be one awkward third wheel.”

Pepper shot her boyfriend a glare over her shoulder. “Look what you did! You scared her away.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Tony raised his hands in defense. “Not my fault that she knows you won’t be able to keep your hands off of me once we get to the island.”

Natasha scrunched her nose in disgust, going back to her work without another word as Pepper smacked her boyfriend on the arm. The rest of the table continued to discuss their plans, before eventually going back to talking about Bruce and Betty once the former walked into the library red-faced and ruffled, and not just from the weather outside. As Tony shot rapid-fire questions Bruce's way, Steve kept his eyes trained on Natasha the entire time, completely abandoning his drawing in favor of observing her profile. She was totally absorbed in her book, seemingly unaware of the increasingly loud conversation bubbling around her, though Steve caught her eyes trailing along the same line of text a few times as she got lost in her own thoughts. It took her a while to finish just that one page she had been stuck on, which was odd considering Steve knew that she was an insanely fast reader. He couldn’t help but think that maybe the talk of everyone’s holiday plans—and her lack of them—was bothering her more than she let off.

For this reason exactly was why Steve jogged up to Natasha after the group split off for class, calling out her name so that she’d stop and wait for him. When he finally caught up to her, not even slightly out of breath, she was looking up at him expectantly through dark lashes.

“What?”

“I, um…” This was harder than he anticipated. He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets and shuffling from side to side. Natasha was growing increasingly impatient. “Look, you’re welcome to come with me during the break. It’s no St. Barths, and truthfully, I’m only going to Brooklyn, but you’re welcome all the same.”

Natasha let out a small breath. “Thanks, Steve, but—”

“Come on. Bucky’s ma won’t mind, and she’s got the best cooking in all of New York. You seriously haven’t lived until you’ve tried her signature spiced beef.” Natasha still didn’t look convinced, biting her lip uncertainly as Steve gave her his best smile. “Bucky might try hitting on you, but if you get him in the balls real good he’ll leave you alone for the rest of your stay.”

Natasha couldn’t help but laugh at that. Steve’s smile only widened at the sweet sound of it. “So, with that said, come. Please?”

She bit her lip again, averting her eyes to keep from getting sucked in by Steve’s own blue orbs, which were shining down on her with such sincerity and kindness in them that she was almost uncomfortable. Steve wasn’t wavering, though. He was going to wait in this blasted cold for days on end if that’s what it took to convince her to accept his offer, because he sure as hell wasn’t comfortable with the idea of Natasha being on campus alone by herself for half a month.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Natasha let out a heavy sigh of surrender. She pushed her hair away from her face before glancing up at Steve, whose beam had gotten larger, if that was even possible, and said, “Jesus. _Fine_ , Steve, I’ll go with you. And only because you’re turning blue from the cold and you looked like you weren’t going to leave until I said yes.”

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” he laughed, bracing himself with a grin as Natasha tried her best to hide her own smile, instead punching him playfully on the arm. “Seriously, I am. Though, now I’m kind of rethinking it, because Bucky will also probably give you a _very_ detailed account of every single embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me in my life.”

“Wow, Rogers, why didn’t you mention that sooner? I would have said ‘yes’ right then and there.”

Steve ran a hand over his face. “Oh, I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Natasha smirked. “Yeah, you probably will.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's here! At least one more chapter will be centered around the winter break, just to let you guys know. But for now, I hope you guys enjoy this, because I certainly did. With that, read on, and I anticipate your feedback.

Natasha ran through her mental checklist of items again. Toothbrush, check. Cell phone charger, check. Clothes upon clothes upon clothes, check. She furrowed her eyebrows and ran her finger over her bottom lip as she tried to remember anything she may have left out, only finally giving up on racking her brain when she felt Maria’s presence behind her in her bedroom’s doorway.

“You got everything?”

“I think so,” Natasha replied, not turning around to look at her roommate.

Maria was quiet for a while as she watched Natasha pace around the room, tapping her chin in thought as she fell back into the pre-vacation paranoia that came when packing. She just knew that when she got to Steve’s house— _best friend’s family’s house?_ —that she’d suddenly remember at least a handful of things that she had forgot to bring. Though it wasn’t like they couldn’t just go buy whatever she needed at a nearby store; they _were_ only going to Brooklyn, after all.

“I’m glad you’ve made plans,” Maria said, suddenly.

Natasha snorted a laugh. “They were hardly made, so much as offered.”

“But still. I’m just…” She let out a sigh.

“Hey. You okay?”

Maria looked up to see Natasha gazing at her in concern. She cracked a small smile at that, lifting a shoulder in a shrug and nodding her head. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just a little relieved. I know it’s unlike me, but...I was worried about you staying here by yourself for a week.”

Natasha swallowed, understanding what her friend was saying. “Me too. Kind of.”

“You should have said something. You know I would’ve dropped my plans in a heartbeat,” Maria replied.

“I know; that’s why I didn’t say anything. You’ve been talking about seeing your parents for weeks now. I wasn’t about to ruin that for you.”

“But Alexei—”

“—won’t be able to touch me since I’m not going to be here anymore,” Natasha finished, walking over to squeeze her roommate’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m gonna be safely tucked away in Brooklyn, far from any barren college campus, far from Alexei fucking Shostakov.”

Maria cracked a smile. “I guess we have Steve to thank for that?”

Natasha shrugged, turning her head to hide her own smile. “I guess we do.”

With the brief tension dissipated, the raven-haired woman was quiet again, though Natasha could feel her grin melting in the back of her head. Natasha resisted the urge to look at her; refused to give her the satisfaction.

“He’s cute,” Maria said at last.

All Natasha had as a response was a neutral hum.

“Come on, you think he’s cute,” Again, no verbal answer. “Actually, he’s more than cute, but I figured I was already pushing my luck enough.”

“You know what? Sam was looking for you the other day,” Natasha said, voice innocent but also a little too smug.

Maria chuckled before turning around and going back into the living room. “Touché.”

* * *

“So, tell me again why you live on campus if you’re from Brooklyn?”

Natasha fixed the black beanie on top of her head, glancing up at Steve, who kept craning his neck down the road every ten seconds to see if their ride had arrived yet. He let out a small sigh when the road produced nothing but silence and snow, falling back on his heels and turning to acknowledge Natasha with hands in his pockets.

“Well, for one, room and board was free for me,” he easily replied. “And even though they had zero problems with me living with them, Bucky and his family have enough on their plate already with a single mother raising three children. I didn’t want to have to make things any tighter, financially.”

“That makes sense,” Natasha cocked her head to the side, before nudging him on the arm with a playful smile. “So self-sacrificing.”

Steve smiled back, but didn’t say anything further than that, instead choosing to glance back down the road again. Nothing. He let out another sigh. It wasn’t like he was pissed that he and Natasha were standing in the quad waiting in the cold; he was completely fine with that, because Natasha could keep him distracted from the fact that he was freezing his ass off by just conversation alone. No, Steve was excited—about seeing Bucky, about teasing Rebecca, about being Grace’s personal jungle gym; about getting to hug Bucky’s ma. He was excited to be going _home_.

He was excited to bring Natasha with him.

“I’m glad you decided to come.”

Natasha smirked, shrugging. “Your buddy better own up on the embarrassing childhood stories.” As he laughed, her smirk turned into a small smile as she added, “But I’m glad too.”

They both smiled, green and blue eyes boring into one another as everything else around them suddenly became unimportant. Natasha looked up at him through dark, snowflake-dusted lashes, her expression totally unreadable yet telling him a thousand things at once all at the same time. Steve opened his mouth to say something, perhaps along the lines of “ _jesus christ you’re beautiful_ ” or “ _would you change your mind if I kissed you right now_ ”, but the sounds of a car honking came instead, making them both jump and, even more so, Steve blush. He quickly tore his eyes away from Natasha, afraid of what he would do if he didn’t move his face away from hers right then and there, and at Bucky pulling up in a rusty pickup truck.

Steve swallowed down the butterflies that had fluttered their way up from his stomach, instead producing a broad grin on his face as he lifted his arms at his sides and called, “You’re late!”

“You’re just always early, you grandma,” Bucky retorted. “I’m right on time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolled his eyes as he took both his and Natasha’s luggage and hauled them into the truck’s bed. “Nat, this is James Buchanan Barnes. Don’t let the sophisticated-sounding name fool you; he’s a complete vagabond. Bucky, this is Natasha Romanoff.”

“Don’t listen to him. I’m as gentlemanly as they come,” Bucky grinned, performing a fake bow as best as he could from behind the steering wheel. “Nice to meet you, my lady.” He joked.

Natasha smirked at how Steve shook his head in embarrassment. “Teasing Rogers for two weeks straight? Oh, I think we’ll get along just fine.”

“I’ve only got myself to blame for this union,” Steve muttered, running a hand down his face.

“It’ll be fun,” Bucky smirked, “You can shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash. Now, come on, you guys are making me late. Ma’s got a hot pot of stew on the stove waiting and the girls can’t wait to tear you apart, Stevie.”

“Oh, _we’re_ making you late?” Steve scoffed, opening one of the backseat doors for Natasha before climbing into the passenger’s side. Once he did, he punched his friend playfully on the arm. “You’re unbelievable, I swear.”

Bucky grinned. “Missed ya too, man.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but the smile was there all the same. “So, where the hell did you get this truck from, anyway? Unless you’ve suddenly turned into a middle-aged Latino man with four kids,” he gestured at a picture of a family sticking out of the dashboard.

“It’s a work vehicle,” Bucky replied, before relenting at the disbelieving look Steve gave him. “Okay, okay, it’s my coworker’s. But he and his family are out of town, and he once told me that if I ever needed to use it, that I could. Though I _am_ pretty sure he meant for anything involving _work_ , but what the hell. This is a special occasion.”

Natasha smirked from the backseat. “Wow, Rogers, you weren’t kidding. He really is a vagabond.”

“Ooh, switching loyalties. You’re a traitor to the cause,” Bucky said, pretending to be offended.

“It’s only fair,” Steve added. “She was my friend first.”

“Well, we’ll see which one of you boys I like better by the end of winter break,” Natasha teased, leaning forward between the seats to give Steve a playful wink. He rolled his eyes again, though his cheeks were also set aflame by a rosy blush.

“My money’s on neither,” Bucky replied. “We’re a bunch of punk kids when we’re together.”

“You’re a punk all on your own,” Steve said matter-of-factly, a broad grin on his face.

Bucky ignored him, looking at Natasha in the rearview mirror. “How’d you ever become friends with this guy? Lord knows he lacks the proper social skills.”

“My best friend is his roommate,” the redhead replied. “Though the _way_ we met was interesting altogether…”

“Oh?” Bucky glanced at Steve, who was pointedly keeping his gaze fixed out the window. “How so?”

“I kind of climbed into bed with him in the middle of the night,” Natasha shrugged, totally nonchalant. “It’s a long story about how, but yeah.”

“Steve, I think that’s the fastest you’ve ever progressed with a girl,” Bucky chuckled. “You went from strangers to sharing a bed in a matter of seconds.”

“Thanks, Nat, you’ve gone and given him ammunition.”

Natasha smiled and raised her hands in defense. “I have no regrets.”

“I guess I don’t, either,” Steve sighed. “I mean, who knows where we’d be now were it not for that fateful night?”

Truthfully, there were a lot of possibilities, and majority of them had something to do with Alexei, one way or the other. But she wasn’t here to think about that, wasn’t here to think about _him_ , so she pushed those thoughts out of the forefront of her mind and let out a sigh of her own, meeting Steve’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

However, Bucky was already speaking to her. “So, Romanoff. That’s Russian, right?” Natasha forced her eyes away from Steve’s and nodded. “You speak the language? I know a few words myself. A girl I used to date taught me. She was Ukrainian, though.”

“Fluently,” Natasha answered with a small bob of the head.

“That’s cool. The girl I dated was fluent in English, Russian _and_ Ukrainian. Hey—” He smacked Steve on the arm to get his attention. “You remember Yelena, right? Yelena Belova?”

Natasha’s blood ran cold. Her fingertips turned into icy points and a spike of anger prickled at her scalp, causing her to curl her hands into the pleather seat she was sitting on. Out of all people, Bucky knew _Yelena_. Yelena, her old friend. Yelena, who was like a sister to her. Yelena, who Natasha once loved as much as she did Clint.

Yelena, who had sex with Alexei more times than Natasha could count on both hands while she was still dating him.

The sound of Steve’s voice barely cut through her hazy thoughts. “Uh, I think so. Short. Blonde, right?”

“That’s the one.”

“Then, yeah. She was nuts, Buck. Didn’t she threaten to have one of her delinquent friends kick your ass after you dumped her?”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah. I wonder what she’s up to nowadays.”

_Screwing that delinquent friend you mentioned. Probably getting more and more caught up in the drugs that turned Alexei into the piece of shit he is now. Shoplifting. Vandalizing. Smoking. Fucking._

_Laughing with Alexei about how pathetic they think I am._

_I don’t need you. I don’t need either of you. I have my friends. I have St—_

“Nat? You okay?”

Natasha blinked, focusing her vision on a very concerned-looking Steve. He was turned around in his seat so that he could look at her, his head poking out between the seats. She didn’t bother looking at Bucky; he was still driving. She _did_ force a tight-lipped smile on her face as Steve continued watching her, controlling the tremble in her hands as she reached up and tucked a loose red strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry,” she lied. “I just spaced out there for a sec.”

“Okay,” Steve replied, a gentle smile softening his features despite the worry never leaving his blue eyes. He motioned over his shoulder at the multiple brownstones sliding past them on the street. “We’re almost there.”

Natasha broadened her smile and waited until Steve finally turned back around to drop it.

* * *

“Ma! We’re home!”

As the trio pushed their way through the front door of the Barnes’ brownstone townhouse, Bucky set their luggage down and out of the way as he announced their presence. However, instead of his mother’s voice calling out in a reply, a flurry of rapid, tiny footsteps thumping down the hall sounded and a whirl of chocolate brown hair popped up from behind the couch as a tiny body sprang into the air and attached itself to Steve’s leg.

“ _Ste-e-e-e-ve!_ ” The—Natasha now realized—little girl hummed, squeezing her tiny limbs around Steve’s jean-clad leg. She nuzzled her cheek into his knee and positively refused to let go. “You’re home! I missed you! Rebecca’s not nice when you’re not here—”

“That’s a lie. I’m nice all of the time,” as another voice sounded, this one deeper but clearly still belonging to that of a teenager, a tall, slender girl appeared at the living room’s archway, her arms bent over her chest and a small smile on her face. Natasha couldn’t help but note that she looked like a shorter, skinnier Bucky. “You’re just a brat.”

“ _See?_ ” The smaller girl pouted, tilting her head up and looking at Steve with wide eyes.

Steve was chuckling the entire time, while Bucky just shook his head. The blond slowly bent down and scooped the little girl up in his grasp, holding her with one arm as she settled against his hip. “I’ve been here not even five minutes and you two are already pretending you don’t love one another. Hey, Gracie,” he squeezed the little girl in a hug and she snickered beneath his strength.

“You got buffer,” she giggled.

“No, you just got smaller. You _do_ know how growing works, right?” He grinned. As Grace stuck out her bottom lip and thumped Steve on the shoulder, he simply laughed and moved over to engulf the older girl in a hug. “Apparently, your _sister_ does. Jesus, Becca, you’re practically Bucky’s height now.”

The teenager, Rebecca, shot her older brother a teasing look. “Well, Bucky _has_ always been short for a guy.”

“Hey, Bec? Screw you,” Bucky shot back.

“ _Wow_ ,” Grace was talking now, the word coming out from between her small lips in an awestruck gasp. Natasha glanced at her and found that the little girl was already staring at her with large grey eyes. “Are you a princess?”

Steve chuckled and turned so that he could face the redhead. “No, she’s my friend. That’s Natasha.”

“Is she your _girl_ friend?” Grace asked knowingly, giving him a sly look. Her sister immediately scolded her in a low voice, while Bucky laughed at how Steve immediately turned scarlet.

“Uh, no, she’s—”

Natasha patted him on the shoulder and his mouth immediately snapped shut. “He wishes,” she didn't see how he colored even further at that. “You’re Grace, right? It’s nice to meet you.”

“Sucks for him,” Grace replied after a nod. “You’re so _pretty_.”

“Thank you, but _you’re_ the pretty one,” Natasha smiled kindly, making the little girl blush, before turning to face her sister. “And you’re Rebecca?”

She nodded, too. “Sorry about Grace. She has no filter, even for a seven year-old.”

Natasha laughed. “At least she’s adorable. Steve and I have a friend who’s much worse.”

“Yeah, Gracie’s much cuter than Stark,” the blond smirked, reaching up to muss the little girl’s hair. Despite the protests she was voicing, Natasha could see that she was trying to hide a smile.

“Don’t you go tangling my daughter’s hair, young man,” the group turned to look as a middle-aged woman in an apron stepped into the entranceway, her face pretty and kind. She had a swirl of dark brown waves piled on top of her head in a messy bun and multiple strands had fallen free to frame her forehead.

Steve immediately straightened at her voice, letting Grace slide down his body until she was standing on her own two feet. “Uh, yes. Sorry, ma’am.”

The woman watched Steve with a stern look for a few beats, before cracking a grin and walking over to wrap him in a loving hug. “You know I hate it when you get all military-polite on me.”

“Well, I was raised to have manners,” Steve smiled over her shoulder. He stepped to the side after she released him from the hug and said, “Winnie, this is my _friend_ ”—he shot Grace a pointed glare—“Natasha. Nat, this is Winifred Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you,” Winnie beamed, reaching out in what Natasha presumed to be a handshake. She quickly found it to be otherwise as Winnie pulled her into a hug not different from the one she gave Steve. “These boys didn’t give you any trouble on your way here, did they?”

“They behaved well enough,” Natasha smirked as Bucky and Steve stood off to the side, appearing as innocent as ever.

Winnie looked over her shoulder at them, a flat look on her face. “Yeah, I hardly believe that. These two have always been troublemakers. I’m surprised Steve doesn’t have a nice shiner on one or both of his eyes.”

“I can change that if he steps out of line, Ma,” Bucky grinned, earning a playful shove in the shoulder from his best friend.

“See? Troublemakers, I tell you,” Winnie shook her head before looking back at Natasha. “Well, now that you’re here, I didn’t slave away in the kitchen all day for nothing. Are you two hungry?”

“Starving,” Steve beamed.

“Great,” Winnie replied. “But then again, you have an appetite of a lion, so I’m not surprised. Bucky, go help them get settled in their room while the girls and I prepare the table.”

Steve knitted his eyebrows together. “Wait—‘ _room_ ’?”

“Honey, I’m capable of many things, but conjuring up an extra bedroom out of thin air is not one of them,” Winnie replied, giving her surrogate son a look. “Your old bedroom is exactly how we left it. Use those manners you say you were raised with and give Natasha the bed.”

Bucky laughed at the expression on Steve’s face, picking up some bags and clapping his friend on the shoulder. “This way, buddy. Or did you forget?”

Natasha and Steve followed him down the hall and past a series of doors, each of them bedrooms. The first one was significantly larger than the others, the door cracked open to reveal two beds and the combined mess of a teenager and child, and Natasha immediately knew that this room was shared between Grace and Rebecca. The second bedroom was cleaner, but only by a fraction, and was proudly pointed out by Bucky as his. The third bedroom, the door of which had been closed, was Winnie’s and deemed a “child-free” zone—Steve and Bucky, despite being in their twenties, included. Natasha laughed at that, though she couldn’t blame Winnie for wanting her space; she was raising a handful of _very_ spirited human beings, after all.

When they came up on Steve’s old bedroom, Natasha couldn’t help but smirk at the back of the blond’s head, anxious to get a glimpse of what Steve’s life may have been like before college, before she met him. Had he been the same as he was now? Probably. But there was something so personal about entering his old bedroom that made it seem different than all of the other times she had been in his room back in Stark Hall. Something more personal than climbing into his bed into the middle of the night seeking comfort, even though she hadn’t meant to seek it from him.

Bucky opened the door and Steve and Natasha stepped inside. It wasn’t a large space, by any means—significantly smaller than his bedroom back at his and Clint’s apartment, but it wasn’t the size of a closet, either. Natasha would describe it as cozy. And, remarkably, stained with the heavy scent of Steve: linen, dried paint, leather. There was an Uncle Sam poster hanging above the bed and a toolbox of old paintbrushes pushed up against the wall, which was painted a sky blue color. Though it wasn’t like Steve was a messy person by default, the room had obviously been cleaned in his absence. However, a shirt had been left dangling by a wire hangar on the closet’s door; one that was clearly Steve’s based on the fading paint stains and obviously _him_ style, but also about five sizes too small. Natasha glanced curiously at that, remembering Steve telling her something about being one hell of a late bloomer, but surely he hadn’t been _that_ small, had he?

Before she could ask, though, Steve was already talking. “Like Winnie said, the bed’s yours. It’s not much, but it’s pretty sturdy. I mean, it supported _my_ weight for five years, so…”

“’Sturdy’, huh?” Natasha grinned, pointing out the innuendo just to make him blush.

He did. “Wait, no. That’s not what I— _jesus­_ , I meant—”

Natasha tipped her head back in a laugh. “Relax, soldier, I’m only joking. You really are an easy target.”

“I’m so glad Bucky wasn’t here for that one,” Steve muttered, glancing over his shoulder and down the hall, where Bucky had disappeared down after dropping off their luggage.

She stepped up to him and softly patted his cheek. “Cheer up, Steve. I’m sure you’ll present some more teasing opportunities at dinner.”

He cracked a smile. “And if I don’t, then you and Bucky will probably just create some.”

“ _Now_ you’re getting it,” Natasha grinned, before sliding past him and out of the bedroom.

Steve simply shook his head before joining her and the others in the dining room.

* * *

Steve wasn’t kidding. Winnie really  _was_ a fantastic cook—and a generous one, at that. She had prepared a steaming pot of beef stew, which would have been filling enough for Natasha on its own, but Winnie apparently anticipated that Steve could’ve polished off the entire pot by himself and made a few more “side” dishes that were technically anything but. By the time dinner was over, Steve had went through three bowls of the stew, a few servings of mashed potatoes, and at least four pasties that Winnie had fried mid-meal. Natasha was getting full just watching him, but at least he had the sense not to talk with his mouthful, unlike Clint, which was a luxury in itself. However,  _Bucky_ did, and Natasha couldn’t help but think that he and Clint would become fast friends.

After dinner, Steve insisted on doing the dishes despite Winnie’s protests, but he eventually convinced the woman to go spend some time off of her feet by promising that he wouldn’t kick her out of her own kitchen come morning. With that, Winnie practically disappeared, slinking off into her room with a final “good night” to everyone before crashing not even five minutes later. Grace, being a seven year-old coming down from a sugar rush (Steve had snuck her some candy when Winnie wasn’t looking), was the next to go, falling asleep in Bucky's lap, who proceeded to carry her to her own room with a fond look on his face. Natasha and Rebecca talked for a bit after that; she quickly found that the teenager was interested in criminal justice herself, and Natasha gave her all of the college pointers she may need when she graduated the following year. Rebecca soon got tired, though, and she too departed the living room, passing by Bucky who was just exiting the girls’ bedroom himself.

By the time Bucky called it in for the night, Steve was still cleaning the kitchen, so Natasha decided to keep herself busy. She got up from her spot on the couch, walking over to a wall in the hallway that had been littered with numerous pictures, each of them framed and homely. The first photo that Natasha’s eyes went to was one of a younger Rebecca, tawny hair split into disheveled pigtails as she cried in Santa’s lap. In the corner of the picture was Bucky’s head, apparently having photo-bombed the picture with a toothy grin, though most of his actual teeth were missing and he looked as if he was being pulled away from the camera by someone else, probably Winnie. It was a glimpse into their hectic, yet loving family life, which was probably why it was framed and hung up on the wall.

The other photos were very similar, though some of them included a tall, handsome man with raven hair and a bright smile. He looked like Bucky, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that this had been Winnie’s husband. He was never featured in any photographs with Grace, so Natasha deduced that she had been born after his death. Other photos included a _very_ small Steve, though he looked the same, for the most part. His body was small and sickly skinny, but he had a mop of blond hair growing on his head and those vibrant blue eyes poking out from behind his bangs. His teeth were crooked when he smiled, a heavy contrast to the straight, pearly whites that he had now, but it was an endearing sight, especially as the camera captured him grinning alongside an equally rowdy-looking Bucky. The two of them were covered in dirt and Steve had a fading black eye, but they looked happy and just as much as the troublemakers that Winnie had said they were.

The photo that stuck out to Natasha most was one that had been hanging right in the middle of the wall, despite its small size. It was no larger than a postcard, but it was obviously placed in the center for a reason. It was a picture of a woman, probably in her mid-thirties and incredibly beautiful, with silky golden hair and bright, almond-shaped azure eyes. She was smiling, flanked on either side by Steve and Bucky, who looked as if they couldn’t be older than eight or nine. Steve was caught mid-laugh and Bucky was making a funny face, and Natasha found herself unwittingly smiling with the three of them.

“That’s my mom.”

Natasha hadn’t noticed Steve enter, and truthfully, had no idea how long he’d been standing there. Still, she didn’t jump at the sound of his voice, and instead turned her head to acknowledge him before looking back at the photo.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed quietly, stepping up at her side to look at the photo himself. “This was on my tenth birthday party. I remember I was laughing because Bucky had just got slapped by a girl he tried to kiss, and he was already over it in time to take the picture.”

“If I have him gauged correctly, then that sounds like him.”

“Bucky always handled rejection well. If something didn’t work out, then that something wasn’t meant to be,” Steve nodded. “My mom was the same way. I don’t know where that trait went when I was born, because I’m always worrying about one thing or the other.”

“It’s a good trait to have. It means you care.”

“Yeah.” He said quietly again.

A few beats passed, then she asked, “How else was she like?”

“Lively,” was his immediate answer. “Beautiful. Stubborn, but independent. Vibrant, creative; funny. She was tough—didn’t take shit from anyone, but loyal to those she cared about,” he paused and turned his head to give Natasha a brief look-over. “She was kind of like you, now that I think about it.”

Natasha smiled softly, and Steve continued. “She and Winnie were best friends, so Bucky and I have been together since day one. And I owe this family everything for taking me in after her death.”

“They love you like blood,” Natasha replied. “Winnie doesn’t see you any differently than she sees Bucky or the girls.”

Steve was quiet for a moment, obviously hesitating with what he was about to say next. Natasha waited patiently, busying herself with looking at the other photos, though her eyes always came back to the one in the center of the wall.

“You know, you never did tell me what happened to your parents.”

Natasha blinked, tearing her eyes away from the photo and at some invisible spot on the ground. Steve noticed, because he immediately assured, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up if you didn't. You don’t have to say anything.”

The subject was dropped just like that, and he seemingly went back to observing the wall of pictures without any further worries. Natasha was quiet beside him, and even though he was afraid he had pushed her away with his questioning, he didn’t want to risk freaking her out by appearing too emotional during a moment that was obviously raw for her.

That was why he was so surprised when he heard Natasha’s quiet voice speaking out to him moments later.

“They died in a fire,” she whispered, arms tightly wrapped around her body as she continued to look away from him. “I was eight. My dad pulled me out of the house first, and then went back for my mom. He never came back out.”

Steve bowed his head but didn’t make any move to touch her. She mentally thanked him for it. “I’m sorry, Natasha.”

“You don’t have to be. You know what it’s like.” She replied, finally looking up and at his face. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, though it was faint, as if she had been practicing holding back her tears long enough to be a professional at it by now. The thought made Steve unsettled.

“Was that in Russia? If you don’t mind me asking.”

She nodded.

“Then how’d you end up in the States? Again, if you don—”

Natasha gently shushed him, her smile small. “Steve, if I minded, I wouldn’t be standing here right now,” she told him, before continuing, “My dad’s best friend, Ivan, lived in America. He brought me here and raised me until I was eighteen, when he passed during my senior year.”

Steve blew out a breath, but didn’t apologize again. “So you lived alone for the rest of high school?”

“I stayed with Clint every now and then. Other times…” Natasha paused, glancing away and clenching her jaw. Steve looked at her expectantly, though he was patient in waiting. He wasn’t going to push her now, not when she was finally opening up to him. “Other times, I stayed with my ex-boyfriend.” She finished on a sigh.

“Oh. You never mentioned—”

“I know.” Natasha cut him off, though her voice was without irritation as she instead turned and smiled up at him. She was telling him not to question about that particular subject any further, at least not right now, and he nodded softly in understanding. “My dad is the one that taught me ballet,” she continued after a moment. “He owned a dance studio, and I grew up among the other dancers. I wanted to be like them when I got older. They were so beautiful, you know? But, after the fire, after I left Russia, I…I didn’t really see the point of dancing anymore, I guess.”

Steve nodded. “When my mom passed, I stopped drawing. For a few years, actually. It took Bucky to convince me to start again. One day, he came over my house and shoved a pencil and paper in my hand. He told me that he was tired of seeing me waste one of the few things that came natural to me—you know, because I already had trouble with breathing and everything,” he smiled and gestured at his lungs. “He told me that my mom would be mad that I was giving up on something she enjoyed watching me do just because she wasn’t there to watch me do it anymore.”

He turned to look at her. “My art was something my mom loved, just like she loved me. I don't know why I never realized that sooner.”

Natasha nodded. “You’re really good, Steve.”

“And you’re really good at dancing.”

She glanced away again. “Look—”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to force you to do anything, I just…wanted you to know. When I saw you dancing that one time, you were really beautiful. It stuck with me.”

Natasha nudged him, a smirk on her face. “Since when did you learn how to talk to women, Rogers?”

The serious expression dropped from Steve’s face and was replaced by a soft laugh. Things had gotten too intimate for her—she was bringing them back into familiar waters; where she knew where they stood, where she could control things. All he could do now was play along.

“Stark gave me a few pointers,” He joked, earning a chuckle from the redhead next to him.

“Oh, I hope not. You’ll turn into a seriously unlikable person if you develop into the next Tony Stark.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you like me now?”

“I’m saying you’re _likable_ now,” Natasha corrected. “But at the rate you’re going, that may change.”

“That’s impossible. You’ll never _not_ like me.” Steve grinned, bumping her arm with his.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You can keep telling yourself that all night, Rogers, but I’m going to sleep. Tell me if you still believe it come morning.”

With that, she smirked, and left Steve standing out in the hallway with a smile of his own as she disappeared into the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, while Bucky's mother and sister were named Winifred and Rebecca, I added an extra sister into the mix and named her Grace. I really liked writing her and I'm headcanoning that she climbs all over Steve. Also, that she thinks Natasha is as beautiful as a princess.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed! Please review your thoughts!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Steve and Natasha are not featured in this chapter. I repeat, Steve and Nat are _not_ in this chapter. However, the rest of the Avengers are, with a guest appearance from Loki! This chapter is just a little something I wanted to add to provide a gap between the start of winter break and Christmas Day, so here are snippets of what each Avenger besides Steve and Nat have been doing on their own breaks. 
> 
> Also, some good news: spring break has just started for me, meaning I now have more time over the next two weeks to update. I want to say that I should have this entire fic finished by the end of the break, but it's not very likely. I have at least five more chapters planned ahead, the next two of which I'm really excited to share with you guys, but do not fret! We still have a ways to go.
> 
> Alright, enough talking. Enjoy!

_Snow._

Loki _loathed_ the snow, which was one of the biggest reasons why he loathed the East Coast. Then again, he didn’t much favor the sun, either; his complexion was far too pale to have a positive reaction to it. No, Loki liked the dark, and he would have greatly preferred sitting in just that than being forced to frolic in the snow like a bloody child.

Loki was brooding.

Thor wasn’t.

“Brother! Is it not a fine day?” Thor boomed, coming to a quick halt beside his raven-haired brother and sending a shower of white slush flying up in the air as he twisted the snowboard on his feet to the side.

Loki scrunched his nose and lifted his hand, which was still wrapped around the handle of a ski pole, to block the spray of snow from his already cold face. “Yes,” he intoned flatly, distastefully. “It’s quite charming.”

“Have you seen our father?”

“I believe he may have already lost his head to the ale,” Loki motioned over at the ski resort’s balcony, where the boys’ father, Odin, was laughing wholeheartedly—a spitting image of his eldest son—behind a giant mug of alcohol.

Thor grinned and clapped his brother on the shoulder. Loki grit his teeth as he was nearly drilled into the earth beneath their feet; you would have thought that after all these years, he would’ve gotten used to Thor’s inhuman strength, and his habit of unintentionally using it on others. "We may very well end up in the same state within the next hour."

“Oh, but lest you forget, brother, I am not of the drinking age,” Loki replied, sliding out from under his brother’s heavy palm.

“Just a year shy,” Thor nudged him playfully, and though it may have been a faint gesture had it come from anybody else, it made Loki struggle to keep his footing. “I’m sure father won’t mind. Besides, he is most likely too gone himself to say no.”

“And mother?”

Thor just beamed, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What about her?” With that, he kicked off of the slope, zipping down the snowy hill and towards the resort, red windbreaker whipping behind him like a long cape in the wind.

For a moment, Loki stood there, watching his brother disappear in a crowd of other vacationers. He grumbled at the sight of a group of kids screaming and laughing, looking way too jovial for his liking as they rolled around in the snow— _gods, that’s disgusting_ —and tugged at each other’s hair. Savages. The lot of them.

And then, he let out a relented sigh, pushing off of the ground with the points of his ski poles as he followed the trail Thor had taken back to the resort, _green_ windbreaker whipping behind him like a long cape in the wind.

If Loki was going to be forced to spend the next two weeks in this hellhole, at least he could be drunk for it. 

* * *

“So, Clinton, Barbara tells us that you’re majoring in criminology. Is that true?”

Clint, who was in the midst of gnawing on a too-large chunk of steak, shifted the food so that it was wedged between his teeth and cheek and made a motion with his head that was caught somewhere between shaking and nodding it. He was currently eating dinner with Bobbi and her parents, at a restaurant that was fancier than any establishment that he had ever stepped foot in—and someplace that he’d never even step foot in in the first place, if he had a choice. But he was doing this for Bobbi, because he _really_ liked her, and he had an impression to make.

Little did he know that he wasn’t making much of one.

“Eh,” Clint said, eating utensils pointed in the air. “I’m sort of in the middle of majors right now.”

Mr. Morse, a salt-and-pepper haired surgeon, looked absolutely dumbfounded. “In-between majors…as a junior in college?”

Clint shrugged. “Criminology wasn’t really my thing. I’m more of a hands-on guy, all of the researching and reading wasn’t my style.”

When no one said anything further, Clint took it as a signal to keep eating, so he forked another dollop of mashed potatoes into his mouth and hardly chewed it before swallowing it down. Bobbi bit her lip anxiously, while her father clenched his jaw and her mother took a derisive sip of her wine.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that Mrs. Morse, who was an older, more stuck-up-looking version of her daughter, cleared her throat and tried, “Do you have any hobbies, Clinton?”

Before Clint could swallow down another mouthful of food, Bobbi answered. “Actually, he does. He’s very skilled at archery.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Morse raised an eyebrow. “Do you compete professionally?”

“Nah. Though, technically, I used to,” Clint replied. “When I was a kid, I used to perform acts with the circus. You know, shooting apples off of random peoples’ heads, that sort of thing.”

The smile on Mrs. Morse’s face dissipated, while her husband just looked flat out annoyed as he flicked his eyes between his daughter and her boyfriend. “You were in the _circus_?”

“Traveled with a bunch of carnies for majority of my early years, yeah,” Clint nodded.

“Hm. Quaint,” Mrs. Morse added sordidly.

“Alright, that’s _enough_ ,” Bobbi suddenly snapped, hand gripped so tight around her butter knife that her knuckles had turned colorless. Clint glanced at her, paused mid-chew, and swallowed slowly as she grit her teeth and stared angrily at her parents. “You need to stop, _now_.”

An angered expression crossed her father’s features. “Barbara—”

Bobbi was already standing. “No. I didn’t bring Clint here so that you could mock him the entire time—though, honestly, I should have expected it,” she retorted, sliding her hand in Clint’s and pulling him up from his seat. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Clint wasn’t going to argue with that, his lips pressed together in a line as he avoided eye contact with Bobbi’s parents. Together, they ignored Mr. and Mrs. Morse’s protests that _Barbara Anne Morse you come back here right now_ and _get away from my daughter, young man_ as Bobbi led Clint hand-in-hand out of the restaurant and safely into an alley down the street. When he realized that her parents hadn’t followed them, Clint made a move to run his hand through his hair and let out a deep breath.

“Shit, Bobbi, I’m sorry. That was all my fault. I was—”

He was cut off as Bobbi pressed a finger to his lips, shaking her head. “Don’t apologize. I don’t want you to apologize. It was my fault for bringing you here in the first place.”

A sharp pang shot through Clint’s chest. “Oh.”

“No— _god_ , Clint,” Bobbi sighed, pushing her blonde hair away from her face as Clint began to turn away. She tugged him back by the sleeve of his shirt, bringing her other hand up to cup his face. He looked hurt. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…I knew how my parents would act when I invited you to meet them. I don’t know why I thought it’d be any different this time. Maybe I thought if they saw how much I liked you that they’d relent, but I guess old habits die hard.”

Clint’s face softened. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you not to apologize,” she laughed quietly. “If anything, _I_ should be the one saying sorry. They humiliated you back there.”

“’Humiliated’? Hardly,” Clint chuckled, wrapping his arms around Bobbi’s waist and pulling her into him. “You _do_ know that I’m friends with a group of some of the most embarrassing people, right? We _live_ to humiliate one another.”

Bobbi chewed her lip. “Yeah, but…”

“But nothing,” Clint replied. “I’ve been submitted through worse, trust me. You didn’t see the time Stark put a giant snake in my room and I jumped out of the window in nothing but my underwear.” When Bobbi didn’t look all that convinced, he added, “ _Really_ , I’m fine. I mean, I got a free steak dinner out of the whole ordeal, so…”

Bobbi rolled her eyes and shoved playfully at his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Too ridiculous for you to kiss me?” Clint raised an eyebrow at her.

She rolled her eyes again, but smiled nevertheless as she leaned up and pressed her mouth to his. After they parted, she whispered, “If you’re still hungry, I know a killer burger joint downtown.”

Clint grinned. “Lead the way.”

* * *

“If you’re still in school, why do you work here too?”

Bruce looked up from his clipboard at the blonde-haired little girl sitting in the hospital bed beside him, wrapped in multiple tubing and patches of gauze but looking just as sprightly and sweet as a child should. During his time working for the children’s hospital, Alice had become one of his regular patients, even though he was only a volunteer and didn’t handle any of the heavy stuff that came with her illness. He was mostly there to check up on her; however, when he visited he usually stayed longer than most, telling the young girl stories to keep her mind off of the pain or, if she was asleep, placing a lollipop at her bedside for her to wake up to. She was probably the biggest reason why he enjoyed working at the hospital so much, though that was largely something he kept to himself.

“Well, the experience will help me when I become an actual doctor after I graduate,” Bruce answered, pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “Why? You don’t like me anymore?” He teased.

“Don’t be silly,” Alice rolled her eyes. “You’re the only one that gives me candy.”

“Hey, that’s a secret,” he smirked, finishing his reports at a nearby terminal before coming to sit down on a chair beside her bed. “If anyone finds out, then I won’t be able to give you your Christmas present anymore.”

She visibly brightened. “You got me a present?”

“Of course,” he replied. “But you’re not getting it _until_ Christmas.”

“Can you at least tell me what it is?”

“It’s a surprise. It’ll ruin the purpose of it being a present,” he countered with a smile. “And no hints, either. It’ll just give it away.”

Alice crossed her arms over her chest. “I guess this means I should get you something too.”

Bruce made a face. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I have to pay you back _somehow_ ,” she replied, eyes wide. She then got a sly look in her eye as an idea popped into her head. “I could give you girl advice. You _are_ still seeing that lady, right?”

“What does an eleven year-old know about girl advice?”

“Hello?” Alice gestured at her body. “ _I’m_ a girl.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? And all this time I thought…” Bruce stopped as Alice playfully swatted his arm, breaking out into a laugh as she stuck her tongue out at him. “But, yeah, I’m still seeing her,” he added after he recovered.

“Are you spending Christmas with her?” Bruce nodded in reply. “Okay, and what do you plan on doing?”

He shrugged. “Dinner, exchange gifts. You know, the usual.”

“ _Bo-o-ring_ ,” Alice sung flatly, rolling her eyes. “That’s hardly anything special.”

Bruce frowned. “What do you know? You’re a little girl.”

“I’ll have you know that I am very familiar with any and all things related to romance,” she answered matter-of-factly. “You don’t spend all this time in a bed without plowing through every book genre, including romance.”

“Seems a little…mature…for your age,” Bruce winced.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Alice waved her hand in dismissal. “Anyways, like I said, _boring_. You need to spice it up.”

Bruce sighed. _I can’t believe I’m taking relationship advice from a pre-pubescent child_. “Fine. What do you suggest?”

“Well, for starters, you weren’t planning on _ordering_ dinner, were you?”

He stammered. “I—”

Alice shushed him. “You’re going to cook her dinner. Something nice and thoughtful and that you know she’ll like. I won’t stand for Chinese take-out on what is supposed to be a romantic night.”

“Alright,” Bruce grumbled, “What else?”

“Then you watch a movie. Do you know what her favorite movie is?”

Bruce blushed.

“Okay, well, you’ll need to figure that out sometime soon,” Alice continued, a disbelieving look on her face. “And if it happens to be something totally stupid or unromantic, throw it out the window and replace it with something that is.”

“Sure. And after the movie?”

“ _Then_ you exchange gifts,” Alice went on, “I hope you bought something meaningful, not like a new set of pots and pans or anything.”

“Well, of course not,” Bruce frowned.

“Whew,” she let out an exaggerated breath of air. “I was almost worried there for a second, Bruce.”

He rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. So, home-cooked dinner, movie, and then presents. Anything else you want to add?”

A sly look crossed the little girl’s face. “That’s when the adult antics come in, I assume. I’ll let you handle that on your own.”

Bruce colored and let out a deep breath. “Oh, god, thank you. This was getting highly inappropriate.”

Alice shrugged. “You’ll thank me later,” she replied, before smiling and looking over his shoulder. “But for now, I think someone’s here to see you.”

Bruce followed her gaze out the room’s window, finding Betty talking to a lady at the floor’s reception desk. As soon as he turned she looked up at him, a smile lighting up her features as she lifted a hand in a wave.

A small foot nudging Bruce in the arm brought his attention back to the girl beside him. “Well? Go get her,” Alice grinned at him.

Bruce smiled back, squeezing her hand as he got up. “Thank you.”

“That Christmas present better be good,” Alice called, smiling still as Bruce slinked out of the room and towards Betty, who had since moved off to the side to wait for him.

“Hey,” she greeted, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. She lifted a white paper bag in her hand. “I brought us lunch. Subs from Mal’s.”

“Sounds great,” Bruce beamed, taking the bag into his own hands so that she didn’t have to hold it anymore. As they walked down the hall and to the cafeteria, he cracked a smile, slipped his hand in hers, and asked,

“Hey. What’s your favorite movie?”

* * *

“Come on, Pep. We’re on _vacation_. Put the textbook down and get in the water with me.”

Tony was currently treading water in his family’s beach house pool in St. Barths, watching his girlfriend from behind the brown lenses of his trademark sunglasses with an exasperated expression on his face. Pepper was ignoring him, her eyes glued to the economics textbook laid out in her lap as she chewed on a pen cap between her teeth. Her strawberry blonde hair had been tied up in a wispy ponytail and she was wearing a white and gold-accented bikini, tan skin flushed from the sun and brow furrowed in concentration. Tony couldn’t deny that she looked absolutely adorable—which was exactly why he needed her in the pool _now_ , and not sitting off to the side doing homework when they were supposed to be on a break from everything and anything having to do with school.

“The water’s nice and cool! I know you’re about to spontaneously combust in this heat,” Tony tried again, ducking his head under water for emphasis. When he emerged, whipping his black hair away from his eyes, Pepper still wasn’t looking at him. He narrowed his eyes to get a better look at her face. “Did you fall asleep? Are you sleeping with your eyes open?”

Pepper turned a page in her textbook to show that she was very much awake, but still didn’t say anything.

“You know, sometimes, I think you’re worse than me,” Tony grumbled.

Again, no answer. Tony frowned.

“I still have a day before Christmas. I can return all of your presents.”

Nothing.

“Maybe I’ll destroy something on the beach later. It’s been a while since I’ve caused a good explosion.”

Not even so much as a pause.

“Virginia Pepper Potts. If you don’t get your ass in the pool right now, so help me god I will—” When he realized that Pepper wasn’t going to budge, Tony grumbled under his breath before swimming over to a nearby ladder. “Alright, that’s it.”

In three quick, long strides, Tony trudged over to his girlfriend, dripping wet and annoyed all to hell as he plucked the textbook from her fingers and tossed it onto the lounge next to her. Pepper glared up at him through her sunglasses, opening her mouth to possibly cuss him out, but the words came out in a startled whine as Tony swept her up in a bridal carry, walked over to the edge of the pool, and threw her into the deep end.

When Pepper emerged seconds later, she looked as if she could kill him.

“Are you out of your _mind_!?”

“No. As a matter of fact, _you're_ the one that's out of her mind,” Tony replied, hands on his hips as he bent forward to look her in the eye. “We’re on vacation and you haven’t stopped working since we’ve arrived at the beginning of the week. That’s it. I’m cutting you off. If I catch you with any of your textbooks again, I’m having Jarvis burn them.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Tony stated firmly. “Now, without further ado—”

He was abruptly cut off as Pepper leaned up and tugged him into the pool by his swim trunks, his bare torso smacking painfully against the surface of the water as he belly flopped. Even as he was emerged underwater, he could hear Pepper’s hysterical laughter as clear as day.

Tony was coughing by the time he resurfaced. “ _Ow_. What was _that_ for?”

“That’s for being a jerk and throwing me into the pool,” Pepper replied sternly, before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him right on the lips. When they parted, she said, “ _That_ was for saying that you cared about me.”

“I did not,” Tony said defiantly.

She tilted her head to the side. “Technically, you did. You cared enough to cut my workaholic antics off and threaten to have your butler burn my books.”

“If you find that notion romantic, I’m afraid of what you’ll expect from me come Valentine’s Day.”

“Worry about Christmas first,” Pepper said, a sweet smile crossing her face. “Now, what was it you were saying about all of my presents?”

“I believe I was threatening to return them,” her boyfriend stated.

The corner of her lips tipped up into a smirk. “Then I guess _I’ll_ just have to return the new, state-of-the-art—”

“Okay, okay, fine. I won’t return your gifts.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to know what I was going to say?”

“You had me at state-of-the-art,” Tony grinned.

Pepper laughed. “Okay. But don’t be disappointed when you open your presents tomorrow and find that one of them is a new, state-of-the-art kitchen blender.”

"Never," Tony admonished. "If anything, I can always turn it into a robot when I get back to my lab."

The grin that he had been sporting was quickly wiped away as Pepper splashed him square in the face. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be one chapter, but then it got _really_ long and too full of feels, so I didn't want to overwhelm any of you guys. (;
> 
> I'm terrible. But it's better this way.

For the past seven years, it had been Barnes family tradition to prepare for the holiday at the last waking second. Apparently, it had all started when the family—which, at the time, consisted of only a nine year-old Rebecca, a sixteen year-old Bucky, and a _very_ pregnant Winnie—were decorating the house at a normal, reasonable date, and Grace had decided to choose that moment to come into the world. Bucky, who had just gotten his driver’s license, had to maneuver the New York holiday traffic in a beat-up minivan with a very distressed Rebecca in the passenger’s seat and a very, _very_ vocal Winnie behind them, proving that, even while in labor, she was still very much capable of backseat driving. Long story short, Winnie’s time in the hospital extended all the way up until Christmas Eve, and by the time the family got home she was either too tired or too busy dealing with Grace to do anything but, so Rebecca and Bucky surprised their mother the next morning by decorating the entire house overnight, even managing to find an _actual_ tree at the last second (Winnie, wisely, opted not to ask about this) that was standing perfect and beautiful in the corner of the living room.

So, come Christmas Eve during Natasha’s stay, she again found herself in the backseat of Bucky’s coworker’s truck, accompanied by only he and Steve as they drove out to some rural part of New York that Natasha had never even thought twice about visiting, in search of a Christmas tree to saw down and tow back to the house.

“Is there anything you do that _isn’t_ illegal, James?” Natasha drawled, smirking at how earlier in the week Steve had referred to his best friend as a vagabond. She, however, had taken to Bucky by his given name, James, for many reasons.

One: she much preferred it to “Bucky”; that particular name reminded her of some big-toothed cartoon character, and its shorter alternative, _Buck_ , reminded her of that disgusting nurse in _Kill Bill Vol. 1_ that had been sexually assaulting The Bride repeatedly during her coma. Luckily for her and Steve, Bucky _wasn’t_ a cartoon character or rapist, hence the reason why she preferred not to call him either names.

Two: it bugged Bucky all to hell when she called him James.

“I don’t steal my gas for this car,” Bucky offered, ears twitching at her usage of his given name but not revealing any further annoyance past that. Natasha smirked at the back of his head triumphantly.

Steve was smirking too. “For a car that, technically, you are stealing,” he pointed out.

“How many times do I have to tell you two that he _lets_ me borrow it?” Bucky retorted, reaching out and flipping his coworker’s family portrait over on the dashboard. The back was white and blank save for the words, “The Martinez Family” scrawled in curly handwriting on the back. “Would it make you two 'good Samaritans' feel better if I put up a picture of myself when we drive?”

“I’d prefer it to a clipping from one of those nude-y magazines you have stashed underneath your bed,” Steve replied.

“Those are over thirteen years old.”

“Oh, I’m sure you break them out every now and then for their…sentimental value,” Steve smirked.

Bucky grumbled. “I hate you.”

“No, no, keep this going. It’s very entertaining,” Natasha said amusedly.

Bucky briefly flicked his eyes to her in the rearview mirror. “I hate you too.”

Natasha pretended to be offended, holding her hand to her chest and sitting back in her seat. “Why, James.”

“Yeah, you heard me. Both of you—outta the car now.”

Steve was laughing too hard to obey the order, let alone to take either of them the least bit seriously. Even from the backseat Natasha could see how red the back of his neck and ears had turned, damn near verging on the color purple, and she pinched his bicep to remind him to breathe. Bucky—though she couldn’t decide if he did it to force some air into Steve’s lungs or because he was tired of being laughed at—took a turn way sharper than was necessary on to a narrow, snow-covered road, causing Steve to smack against the passenger door with a sputtering choke and a thud.

“Don’t go denting the door there, bud,” Bucky grinned at him over his shoulder. “This _is_ my coworker’s car, after all.”

Steve’s voice was hoarse from laughing, as well as trying to recover from choking on his saliva. “Yeah, very funny.”

Natasha leaned forward between the two seats. “So, I’m not entirely sure this is where we were initially headed or you’ve suddenly decided that you needed a private place to kill us and hide our bodies, James.”

Bucky only shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

As it turns out, only five minutes later they were driving up on a deep patch of snow—it was no wonder that they hadn’t gotten stuck yet, but Natasha trusted that Bucky had done this enough times to know what he was doing—and stopping in front of a thicket of pine trees. As the three of them climbed out of the car, Bucky walked around to the bed of the truck to grab the chainsaw he had also been “granted permission” to use whenever he saw fit, before rejoining his friends.

“Since you’re new to this tradition, Romanoff, we’re giving you the pick,” Bucky told her as he fiddled with the chainsaw’s switches. “Just make sure it’s something that looks like it’ll fit through the front door and won’t curve against the ceiling—oh, and something that Steve and I can actually carry.”

“Steve can probably carry any one of these on his own. I have no worries,” she smirked mischievously before nudging the aforementioned man in the hip as she disappeared into the throng of pines. Steve simply shook his head, smiling as he and Bucky leisurely followed her into the forest, managing to keep track of her only by the sporadic blurs of red weaving every now and then ahead of them. Now that they were finally alone, walking side-by-side with Steve’s hands in his pockets and the chainsaw balanced on one of Bucky’s shoulders, the latter was giving his best friend a knowing smirk, watching him out of the corner of his eye and only glancing away when Steve finally got annoyed and let out an impatient sigh.

“ _What_?”

“She likes you,” was all Bucky said.

Steve made a face. “Well, of course. I mean, she wouldn’t have agreed to spend two weeks with someone she _disliked_ …”

“No, you idiot, I mean _likes_ you,” Bucky pressed, “And I know you know what I meant.”

“God, what is this, middle school?” Steve ran a hand down his face with a huff of breath before blinking and checking to see if Natasha was anywhere in earshot. Bucky had a habit of speaking loudly; Natasha had a habit of popping up out of nowhere at the most inconvenient of times. “Drop it, Buck.”

Bucky let out a frustrated groan. “This is the first girl you’ve ever shown any remote interest in since Peggy moved back to—”

“I said _drop it_ ,” Steve interrupted, giving his friend a warning glare that said not to push that particular subject any further. Bucky immediately shut his mouth, looking guilty for bringing up her name in the first place, and Steve instantly felt bad for snapping at him. “Sorry, Buck, I just—”

“No, it’s alright,” he replied, giving him a warm, albeit small smile. “I shouldn’t have brought her up. I know you don’t like talking about her all that much, I’m sorry.”

They walked in silence for a bit. Natasha appeared briefly about twenty feet ahead of them, but vanished just as quickly.

Steve swallowed. “I know she likes me. And I like her too. She’s just…”

“Complicated?” Bucky offered.

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

“All the good ones are, man,” Bucky clapped him on the shoulder. “They wouldn’t be worth it if you didn’t have to try hard.”

“ _You_ never have to try hard,” Steve pointed out.

“Do you see me with any of those other girls now?” Steve didn’t answer. “Exactly. And Natasha wouldn’t be here with us if she was like any of the girls I’ve ever been with. You need to realize that, man.”

“I _do_ realize that. I’m just…”

Bucky smiled faintly. “Complicated?”

Steve let out an ironic laugh. “Yeah.”

“You’re also an idiot,” Bucky added, grinning for good measure. “Oh, and a punk.”

His best friend shoved him playfully in the shoulder. “Jerk.”

In the distance, Natasha poked her head out from behind a tree, covered in little speckles of snow but not looking the least bit winded despite the speed she had been traveling at. She was smirking, her thumb jutted out over her shoulder, and Steve felt that he really _was_ an idiot by the way he nearly forgot how to breathe at the sight of how beautiful she looked.

“I found one!” 

* * *

"It’s beautiful, boys,” Winnie said from her spot in the living room threshold, hands covered in scorched oven mitts as she watched Steve and Bucky—mostly Bucky, who’d been tasked with the front end—struggle to fit the tree through the door of the house. Steve looked as if he was having a much easier time holding up his end of the tree, barely breaking a sweat as he shifted the trunk’s weight in his hands, while Bucky was cursing under his breath every time he or the tree got caught on a piece of furniture and threatened to knock everything in their wake down.

“Of _course_ it’s beautiful,” Grace chimed in from her mother’s side. “Natasha picked it out.”

“Why, Steve, I think you may have some competition,” Winnie grinned, and the blond flushed furiously and ignored how Natasha was watching the back of his head amusedly from where she was patiently leaning against the stair’s railing outside, waiting for the boys to clear the doorway.

“You’re all embarrassing, I swear,” Rebecca huffed, throwing her hands up in the air and shaking her head exasperatingly.

“You know, we could really use a little help here,” Bucky said through clenched teeth, struggling to keep from toppling over in the foyer.

The other women in the house all gave their excuses— _I gave birth to three children. I’m exempt from all of this,_ from Winnie; _I’m seven years old,_ from Grace; and _I have homework I really should do,_ from Rebecca—and Natasha rolled her eyes affectionately at all of them, climbing up the brownstone’s stairs so that she was dangerously close to Steve and tapping him on the shoulder so that he could wiggle out of the way. His blush had deepened even further, if that was possible, as Natasha quite shamelessly brushed her entire body against his on her way inside, and Steve couldn’t decide if she had done it on purpose or because she had no choice and needed to fit between him, the tree, and the doorway in a tight squeeze.

It was probably a mixture of both.

Natasha grabbed the front of the tree, shoving Bucky back until he got the hint and clutched the middle, before giving a nod to the boys and heaving the pine into the living room. Grace and Winnie clambered out of their way, the former watching in awe as Natasha almost effortlessly took over Bucky’s earlier duties and righted the tree in a worn green stand in the corner of the room.

Once the pine was properly balanced, Bucky let out a grumble. “Show off.”

“Weakling,” she countered.

Grace, who had somehow managed to climb her way up Steve’s body and was now settled on his shoulders, pointed her finger at her brother. “Yeah, weakling!”

Bucky opened his mouth, prepared to counter, and then his eyes fell to Steve for help.

Steve, however, only held up his hands—well, as best as he could without toppling Grace over—in defense. “I’m too smart to argue against a seven year-old and her princess role model. You’re on your own, pal.”

Bucky huffed. “Traitors. All of you.”

“Correction,” Steve grinned, “I’m saving my own behind from two very frightening ladies that could probably pummel me to an early death. I’m not betraying.”

“You’re betraying,” Bucky said matter-of-factly, and then he looked at both Grace and Natasha—a little girl with her bottom lip jutted out to look menacing and her hands fisted in his best friend’s hair; and a totally unreadable expression from an intimidatingly pretty redhead with a perfectly plucked eyebrow raised as she scrutinized him to the fullest—and let out a sigh. “Although, I can’t say I blame you.”

“Good man,” Steve clapped Bucky’s shoulder. “Now, let’s get these Christmas tubs out. Unless you still need to catch your breath from carrying the tree…?”

When Bucky got a look at the teasing grin that was on his best friend’s face, he nearly punched him. “You know, you’re really lucky there’s a child in the room right now, otherwise I’d be letting out a whole slew of profanities—”

It was Natasha’s turn to clap Bucky on the shoulder. “I’d stop talking now, James. You don’t want to be winded when we start hanging up the lights around the house.”

As Steve and Natasha grinned teasingly, Bucky glared at the two of them. “I hate you both.”

* * *

On Christmas Day, Natasha rolled over in her sleep and immediately felt a small gust of air tickling her cheeks. Instinctively, she wiggled her nose to relieve the itch. When it didn’t go away, and in fact, became constant, she opened her green eyes to find the source of the breeze so that she could cut it off and go back to sleep.

Only after she blinked the sleep away from her vision, she quickly found that the source of air was coming from Grace’s nose, and she was beaming patiently right in Natasha’s face.

“ _Merry Christmas!_ ” Grace half-sang, half-shouted once she saw that Natasha was awake, throwing her tiny arms in the air and holding them above her head with the most adorable, excited little grin the redhead had ever seen in her entire life. Normally, Natasha hated being woken up (let alone so early), but frankly, it was terribly hard to ever be mad at Grace Barnes, even when she was yelling in your face.

“Merry Christmas, Gracie,” Natasha smiled sleepily, before frowning. “Wait, how are you standing _over_ me? You’re a pretty short kid—”

At that, the sounds of a strained groan came from the floor, and Natasha suddenly remember that Steve had been sleeping there every night since they first arrived at the house for winter break. Leaning forward so that she could peek over the edge, Natasha saw that Steve was just barely blinking awake, though he was also turning red from what was apparently Grace cutting off his air supply as she stood on his sternum.

“ _Gracie, my lungs_ ,” Steve gasped out in a strained voice. The little girl simply giggled and climbed down, letting her human stepping stool sit up and suck in a deep breath.

“Oops,” Grace said, not sounding all that sorry. “Merry Christmas, Steve!”

“M’Christmas, kiddo,” Steve croaked in response, a weak smile on his face even though his voice sounded painfully hoarse.

Natasha couldn’t help but grin. “You alright there, sleepyhead?”

Steve ran a hand down his face. Natasha couldn’t help but note that he looked ridiculously attractive when he was still rumpled and half-asleep. “Never better.”

“Good! So we can open presents now?” Grace beamed, apparently trying her best to swindle Steve into something, if her wide eyes and puffed-out lip were any indication.

“You know the rules, Gracie. After breakfast,” Steve replied, and Grace finished the last part—albeit in a more unenthusiastic voice—with him. “The last time you tricked me into letting you open a present before breakfast, Winnie threatened to hit me with a frying pan.”

“Yeah, but Natasha’s here. She won’t want to hit you if there's a witness,” Grace protested, eyes wide again.

Natasha let out a laugh. “As much as I’d like to see Winnie chase Steve around the house with a frying pan, I’d rather not deal with the consequences. In her haste to hit him, she may forget to feed us breakfast.”

“Oh, thanks. It’s nice to know you care,” Steve grumbled.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “I care. If she goes after you with a frying pan, she also might ruin that handsome face of yours.” With that, she gave him a playful wink, and let Grace drag her out into the living room for whatever Winnie was already preparing in the kitchen.

Steve was still blushing by the time he joined them.

“Woah, man. Did you get caught up in Romanoff’s hair dye?” Bucky raised his eyebrows from behind the kitchen counter, a strip of bacon hanging from between his lips.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “This is natural, thank you very much.”

Bucky smirked. “Fine, I got another one. Hey, Steve, did you happen to—?”

“Leave the poor boy alone,” Winnie scolded, smacking her son’s hand as he reached for another piece of bacon. “And you know the rules—no eating until all the food is done and everyone’s at the table.”

Bucky grumbled underneath his breath before turning around and poking his head into the hallway. “Becca! Hurry up, would ya? Some of us are starving here.” When there was no reply, he faced his mother again. “She gets her lack of punctuality from you, you know.”

Steve scoffed. “Honestly, Buck, you’ve got no room to talk.”

Bucky simply smiled sweetly at him as a very grumpy-looking Rebecca appeared from around the corner, her hair a literal rat’s nest as she practically sleep-walked towards a chair at the kitchen table. When she sat down, Natasha was pretty sure she had fallen back asleep.

Rebecca’s appearance signaled the start of breakfast, and everyone took their respective seats at the kitchen table. Grace, of course, decided that she wanted to sit right next to Natasha, who really didn’t mind. Steve flanked her other side, while Bucky, Winnie, and a still-unconscious Rebecca sat across from them. After a brief Catholic prayer, one that Grace impatiently willed herself through, the six were allowed to dig in. Bucky was the first one to fully load his plate, though Steve was the one who reached for seconds first. Grace played with her food more than she ate it, and Winnie spent the meal trying to get her youngest daughter to eat something or _you won’t be able to open your presents until nighttime_. That, undoubtedly, kick-started Grace into an eating frenzy, giving Winnie enough time to wake her other daughter and shove some eggs into her mouth.

After breakfast, they all shuffled into the living room and situated themselves on the couches, save for Grace, who apparently decided that simply hopping up-and-down in front of the Christmas tree would result in her getting to open her presents faster, though it only earned Bucky standing up from his spot on the sofa and placing his hands firmly on his little sister’s shoulders so that she was rooted to the carpet. They were, seemingly, waiting for Winnie, who had disappeared into her bedroom after cleaning the kitchen to change her clothes—though Natasha really had a feeling that she only did this to tease Grace until she was practically crawling out of her skin with anticipation.

When Winnie finally appeared, changed out of her kitchen clothes and into something more comfortable and less stained, Grace had started to positively thrum again with energy.

“Alright,” Winnie smiled, “Have at ‘em.”

Grace practically disappeared underneath the tree, and when she didn’t resurface a few seconds later, Bucky was sent to go pull her out. Rebecca was picking out her own gifts from the pile, stacking them neatly into her arms before maneuvering her way back to her own corner and grinning broadly at the first package she had decided to tear apart. As Winnie snapped pictures of everyone from a disposable camera, Bucky was having his own way with a imperfectly wrapped present that screamed Steve and, when he tore the paper off, revealed a framed photo of Bucky and his family, so that he “didn’t have to stare at the Martinez family” every time he drove their truck from then on, as Steve put it. Bucky grinned at that, shoving his friend playfully in the shoulder before wrapping him in a loving, one-armed hug.

At that point, Natasha pushed herself off of the couch, walking over to the two neatly wrapped (she learned a thing or two from Pepper a few years back) presents she had placed on the outskirts of the gift pile. As a joke, they were wrapped in American flag paper; Steve was, after all, the all-American poster boy that had somehow managed to invade her own mostly quiet, Russian-immigrant life. There was a Cold War joke around there somewhere, one undoubtedly already made by Tony and or Clint, and she simply smiled at Steve as she handed him his gifts.

“I’m hilarious, and you know it,” she said to him once he raised an amused eyebrow at the paper.

“I didn’t say anything,” he smirked.

She nudged his arm. “Just open the damn present.”

Of course, Steve was one of those people that didn’t want to tear the wrapping paper, and even though Natasha found it a bit endearing, she was also impatient. She even tried to reach over and tear the paper right down the middle, but he caught her hand in his at the last second and used his body to shield the gift until he was done neatly disassembling the wrapping paper and turning back around to stick the blue bow on Natasha’s knee.

The first present she got him, the smaller one, was a simple black sketchbook she had picked up from a local art store because she had noticed how his other one was getting full, and also on the verge of falling apart. This one was simple; a smooth cover with thick paper, and though Natasha was pretty sure it was probably one of the most mediocre presents he had ever received in his life, Steve had never looked so thankful to her. As he clutched the sketchbook in his hand, he hesitated between squeezing her arm and hugging her, so she saved him the trouble and pointed her chin at the second present.

After waiting impatiently for him to carefully unwrap his present again, Natasha watched as Steve slipped off the flimsy box’s top and stared down at what lay inside. For a while, he just stared. It made Natasha anxious. Then, he picked it up in his hands and held it in front of him so that he could see it in full; a chocolate-colored, pebbled leather jacket that she had seen in a boutique and thought would suit him nicely. Now, though, as she waited for his reaction, she wasn’t so sure. In fact, she was quite positive that he was going to smile politely and make up some lie about how much he liked it, when Steve suddenly curled his arm around Natasha’s shoulders and pulled her flush against his body.

Firstly, it should have been illegal for someone to be that warm, even with a cold leather jacket clutched awkwardly between their bodies. Steve’s body heat practically seared through the jacket and lit every single one of Natasha’s nerve endings on fire, and she briefly let herself linger on the thought that she had never felt anything in the like ever before.

Secondly, Steve smelled good. She already knew this, of course; she just never got used to it. Who knew that _paint_ could smell so good? Wasn’t acrylic paint supposed to be odorless? Somehow, with the mix of that, linen, and something that could only be described as _Steve_ , Natasha found herself practically burying her nose into the soft fabric of his t-shirt and wanting to never let go.

And then it was all ripped away from her as Steve realized what he was doing and coughed, his face turning even hotter than his body as he pulled away and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. _No_ , Natasha wanted to tell him _, that wasn’t awkward at all_ , but Steve wasn’t a mind reader, and she wasn’t bold enough yet to voice that particular thought out loud. Instead, she watched as Steve busied himself with the jacket again, a wide grin nearly beating out the blush on his face as he unzipped the jacket and shrugged it on to his frame.

And, _damn,_ was it a worthy investment.

Natasha already knew that Steve had broad shoulders. She just didn’t know how _nice_ they could look when framed by a fitting leather jacket, especially one with just a small-enough collar that you could enjoy the strong-backed view. Then there were the _arms_ , stout and long, moving freely as he tested the restraints of the leather by shrugging his shoulders and flexing his biceps in a way that Natasha wasn’t sure was actually him teasing her or not.

“Well?” She asked, mostly to get some moisture back into her mouth. “You like it?”

Steve blinked and turned his head to look at her, seemingly having remembered that he was not alone. From there, he cracked a boyish grin, one that screamed excitement and gratitude, and Natasha couldn’t tell if the flutter in her stomach was good or bad.

“It’s _great_ , Nat,” Steve breathed out, looking as if he was going to hug her again but instead rolling his shoulders beneath the leather. He needed to stop doing that; Natasha’s mouth could only produce so much saliva. “But…god, wasn’t this expensive?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “It’s rude to ask about the price when you’re given a present, Steve.”

He immediately blushed. “Oh, right. I’m sorry…”

She smiled softly. “I’m glad you like it, though.”

“I more than like it,” Steve mimicked her smile. “I love it. It fits great. Though, now I’m kind of scared how you figured out my size.”

Raising an eyebrow, she said, “I have my ways.” When he gave her a look, she sighed and added, “And don’t forget that you're roommates with my best friend.”

“Ah,” Steve replied, looking over the sleeves covering his arms. It was a truly difficult task for Natasha not to do the same thing, so instead, she focused on his face—which, normally, wouldn’t have fared much better for her, except for the fact that he looked conflicted.

Natasha frowned. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Steve stammered, before blushing again. He seemed as if he was doing that a lot lately, more often than usual. “You’ve just set the bar pretty high. The present I have for you compares in no way or means to what you got me.”

Natasha tilted the corner of her lips in a gentle smile. “Try me.”

Steve looked hesitant, but he went to go get the gift anyway, stepping over Grace and Bucky’s combined messes in the middle of the living room floor and not even receiving a second look as everyone else was so enraptured with their own gifts. Even Winnie, who had planted herself in a worn recliner at the back of the room, was busy fiddling with a new auto-mixer that, apparently, all four of her children—Steve included—had chipped in to buy. Natasha was just about to ask her what else she had received when Steve suddenly moved beside her, sitting down on the edge of the sofa and already looking anxious as he handed her a small present that he had clearly wrapped himself.

Natasha couldn’t help but note that it looked like far more effort had been put into the wrapping than Bucky’s.

The wrapping paper was red and black, shiny and diagonally striped, and because she thought it to be only polite, Natasha treated the wrapping with the same gentleness as Steve treated hers. However, he seemed just as anxious for her to open it as she was, because he was bouncing his leg up and down and couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands. By the time she got half of the tape cleanly off, Steve was already blabbering.

“Honestly, it’s okay if you don’t like it. I’d totally understand, I mean, it’s so small and simple compared to what you got me, and…”

He shut up as Natasha impatiently—and without looking—pressed her index finger to his lips. “Steve, stop talking. I’m going to like it.”

“But—”

“I will not hesitate to return your jacket.”

That got him to stop fidgeting.

When Natasha finally pulled the last of the wrapping paper back, the first thing she saw was smooth, black wood. That was enough to stop her already— _a picture frame_ —but she, with a small smile that she would have _never_ admitted was one of excitement, carefully removed the rest of the paper and stared down at the framed picture in her lap.

No, not a picture. A _drawing_.

It was of her and Steve; an exact replica of the picture Clint had taken of the two of them on their couch when he was experimenting in photography. Steve had, seemingly, drawn the picture using pastels, as the color of Natasha’s hair was impeccably accurate, and he even managed to capture the blush that was on his cheeks as she wrapped his arm around her shoulders that morning in light hues of pinks and reds. Natasha was grinning up at the camera, her hand wrapped around Steve’s wrist where it was draped over her shoulders, not having enough time to put her hand back in her lap before Clint had taken the photo. Steve was leaning into her, though she couldn’t tell much about his body language—except the fact that he was incredibly flustered—because the photo had cut off right below their chests. Though what was most important about Steve entirely in the picture was how his eyes weren’t focused on the lens of the camera at the time it was taken; instead, they were fixed right on Natasha, hovering somewhere between her own eyes and her lips, looking totally unsure of himself yet also like he could have stayed in that position forever. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed him watching her like that that morning, and hadn’t even noticed how Clint captured it in the picture after he showed it to them after.

Absentmindedly, Natasha found herself smoothing her thumb along the edges of the picture frame. The drawing was quite actually _beautiful_ , topping a nice-fitting leather jacket and much-needed sketchbook without a question, but that didn’t stop Steve from gnawing on his lip nervously beside her. It was also the nicest thing someone had ever given her for Christmas; even beating the arrow necklace Clint once got her for her sixteenth birthday, though she would never tell him that. This, somehow, was more personal, and perhaps in the way Steve had _actually_ drawn himself in next to her, each emotion he had truly expressed when the photo had been documented just as openly drawn on to the stiff paper protected beneath the frame’s glass; nothing held back, nothing added.

“You’re going to give me a panic attack,” Steve murmured lowly, nervously, breaking her reverie.

Natasha didn’t look up at him. Instead, she matched the volume of his own voice and said, “You told me you never draw yourself.”

“What?”

“Back at the Tower, when you showed me the drawing of all of us at the table. You weren’t in it, and I asked you why. You told me that you didn’t draw yourself. Ever,” she answered, only turning her head to look up at him when she stopped to suck in a breath. Thankfully, everyone else around them was still too busy to notice how time had seemingly stopped for Steve and Natasha alone. “But you did here.”

Steve looked as if he was going to glance away, but changed his mind at the last second and his eyes instead fell to the same spot on her face where he had been staring at in the picture clutched in her hands. If they were anywhere else, _alone_ , she probably would have kissed him then. She would have wrapped her hands around the lapels of that damned leather jacket and pulled her to him, pressed her lips to his; she would have never let go. She would let his unique sent engulf her and send her on this high that would wash way any inhibitions she had been having the past few weeks. She’d let him have her, she’d open herself to him, and she probably wouldn’t have even regretted it come morning.

But she couldn’t. They weren’t alone, and they weren’t anywhere else, so she couldn’t.

Steve looked just as torn as she felt, but he answered her nonetheless, flicking his eyes back up to meet hers again. His voice was still quiet, perhaps even quieter, but Natasha didn’t have to strain her ears to listen. “I trust you,” he began, “and it’s not like I don’t trust the others, because I do. It’s just… _you_ , I guess. Our friendship started off different, and the trust and respect I have for you sprouted differently that any normal relationship I had ever had with anyone else; even him, for that matter.” His eyes flicked over to Bucky so not to call his attention. Steve sucked in a small breath. “Just everything about you and what I associate you with is _different_ , and it’s refreshing. And I thought I could at least give you this much back.”

Steve had never told her why, but Natasha understood as to why he wasn’t comfortable drawing himself. Most of it probably had to do with his mother; how she wasn’t there anymore, how she couldn’t see him now like everybody else could, whether physically or on paper. It was a raw place for him, just like dancing in front of anybody now was a raw place for her. And she understood, because he had walked in on her that one time dancing in front of the studio mirror, and even though he had asked questions at first, when she dropped the subject, so did he. It was different because they were so _similar_. They knew each other; knew what they wanted and needed, didn’t want and didn’t need. Knew when to stop and knew when to keep going. Knew when to talk and knew when to stand in silence. Knew each other’s limits, just like she knew Clint’s and Clint knew hers, but…this was different, too.

Clint was her best friend, and the way he knew her was different from the way Steve knew her, as well.

“I love it.”

Steve looked up. “You do?”

“Of course,” she easily replied, before nudging his knee with hers. “Now I’m glad you didn’t go before me because you would have had _me_ feeling bad about what I got _you_.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he smiled shyly. “I love what you got me. Really, it’s great.”

She smirked. “Are you making this into a competition?”

“Fine. We love each other’s presents equally,” he sighed, smiling in full now. “You happy?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. I haven’t tried Winnie’s spiced beef yet. You played it up pretty high when you asked me to come here for the break,” she teased, keeping her voice low so that Winnie, who was still fussing over her auto-mixer, didn’t hear them.

Steve smiled and shook his head. “Are _you_ always so engrossed with food?”

“Not always,” Natasha replied quietly, truthfully; her eyes fell to Steve’s lips for the briefest of moments before she caught herself and brought them back up again. His eyes were intent when she met them, as if he was trying desperately to hold on to every ounce of self-control he had in his body and not take her face in his hands and press their mouths together just like she had been so close to doing moments before.

They knew each other’s needs and wants, and what Natasha both needed and wanted so badly right then and there was to kiss Steve Rogers right in front of every single person he held dearest and closest to him.

But she couldn’t. They weren’t alone, and they weren’t anywhere else, so she couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know Steve's jacket. That _damn_ jacket. But if you're having trouble remembering, you can refresh your memory [here](http://25.media.tumblr.com/70ed5b9ebcea82fad5d2d392f8d2168e/tumblr_n2g95l2ejU1qjx6n6o1_250.gif).
> 
> Also, if you haven't watched Kill Bill Vol. 1, despite Buck the sleazebag, it's a great movie. My third favorite, in fact, coming after Captain America: the Winter Soldier in first and the Avengers in second. It might just get bumped down to fourth come May when Age of Ultron comes out, but that depends on whether Joss Whedon wants to break my heart and my ship or not.
> 
> That's a story for another time.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys liked this. It's fluffy and angsty but in a fluffy way, yeah? Wait until the next chapter, oh boy. Reviews are appreciated! I read and every single one of them, and even though I don't reply to all of them, each of them warms my heart! None of you guys go unnoticed, I promise.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> That's all I have to say.

“I don’t know, Buck…”

When they were kids, Bucky’s charm came in handy more often than not. If he and Steve got caught trying to sneak out in the middle of the night, Bucky could sweet talk his Ma into letting them off with only a warning and a sharp pinch to the ear. If Steve’s big mouth got them stuck between a couple of guys looking for a fight, Bucky could talk them down until the only thing they lost was their lunch money, and not their two front teeth. If Steve was going to be a third-wheel to Bucky and his current girl, Bucky could get any other woman to join them so that his best friend wouldn’t be alone, even though it never worked out in the end. The point was that Bucky could convince anyone into doing anything, and normally, this was one of the things Steve admired about him most.

But it was different when _he_ was the one that Bucky was trying to convince, which was exactly what he was doing now.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. Just the three of us, going out and having a good time. It’s New Year’s Eve, for crying out loud.”

“It’s just not really my scene,” Steve replied, busying himself with his bowl of cereal. He found out early on that the best way to fight against Bucky’s persuasion skills was by not looking him in the eye for too long.

“It’s not really _anybody’s_ scene,” Bucky argued. He was relentless. “They’re sweaty and loud and cramped. But by the end of the night, everybody’s too drunk to not have fun.”

Steve scoffed. “You know, I’m really glad you didn’t try and pursue a career in real estate, because your pitches are terrible.”

“I’m not trying to get you to buy a house. I’m trying to get you to go nightclubbing.”

“Did somebody say ‘clubbing’?”

Both Steve and Bucky turned to find Natasha standing beneath the kitchen’s archway, one of her hands wringing a towel through the damp tresses of her short hair. She had just gotten out of the shower, and the smell of her shampoo— _honey and pears,_ he mentally filed away this information—combined with the steam was just catching up to her in the room, wafting its way up Steve’s nose and making him feel positively dizzy in the best way. He was thankful that Bucky’s back was to him because he surely would have caught how Steve had to pinch himself on the thigh in order to clear his thoughts otherwise.

“ _Night_ clubbing, but yes,” Bucky nodded at her and pointed at his best friend with his thumb. “I’m trying to get gramps here to loosen up.”

“’Trying’ is the key word,” Steve grumbled.

“So you _do_ agree you need to loosen up,” Bucky grinned, earning an eye-roll from Steve. “What do you think, Romanoff? You up for a bit of clubbing?”

Steve was fully expecting Natasha to back him up on this, so when she instead said, “It’s not a bad idea,” he nearly choked on his Frosted Flakes.

When he recovered enough to speak again, Steve croaked, “What?”

She was smirking now, and not the teasing one that he loved to see, but a mischievous leer that made him nervous more than anything. “It’s gonna be fun.”

“See? Told you,” Bucky grinned. “It’s two against one. You’re outnumbered.”

“If Gracie was here she’d back me up,” the blond mumbled.

“Gracie’s seven years old. She gets drunk on candy, not actual alcohol,” Bucky pointed out. “And besides, even if she wasn’t out running errands with Ma and Becca, I’m pretty sure she’d side with her favorite Russian Anastasia over here.” He jerked his head in Natasha’s direction.

“You’re not funny,” she rolled her eyes before looking at Steve. “But the idiot has a point.”

Steve looked between the two of them for a moment. Bucky was wiggling his eyebrows and Natasha was watching him with an almost emotionless expression on her face, though he could see how she was trying to hide a smile. Even though she wasn’t giving anything away, she wanted him to go, that much he could tell. Even so, when he let out a relenting sigh seconds later, he told himself it was because his brain was still reeling from that damned intoxicating honey-and-pear scent, and not because he wanted to bring that smile out of her in full.

“I don’t even have anything to wear. Unless people go clubbing in paint-stained jeans and Converse.”

Bucky brightened first. “Don’t worry about that,” he was practically beaming. “So, is that a yes?”

Steve stared at him for a moment before sliding his eyes to Natasha. She was still watching him coolly, patiently. He let out deep sigh. “Yeah, that’s a yes.”

When Natasha finally cracked a broad smile at the words, Steve decided right then and there that whatever hell he was going to be put through later that night would be worth it.

* * *

_This is_ definitely _not my scene._

Bucky hadn’t been lying when he said that nightclubs were sweaty and loud and cramped. As he sat in a booth on the outskirts of the dance floor, Steve felt as if he was going to spontaneously combust in his clothes. He was wearing the leather jacket Natasha had bought him for Christmas, coupled with a white t-shirt (one of the few he owned that wasn’t paint stained), a pair of expensive-looking dark jeans that Natasha had thrown at him earlier that day and what he suspected came out of Tony Stark’s wallet, and some brown and white sneakers he owned but rarely ever wore. He quickly found that the jacket protected well against the freezing temperatures outside, but did nothing but trap every bit of heat emanating off of his body once he stepped into the nightclub. It was almost unbearable at this point, especially since he felt as nearly as sticky and sweaty as the people moving about on the dance floor, even though he had yet to step foot out there since the trio first arrived fifteen minutes prior.

He was also pretty sure he wasn’t _going_ to step foot out there anytime soon with the way everyone was moving against each other. It was all grinding and gyrating and grabbing; something he’d describe as “dry-humping” before dancing, and Steve couldn’t watch anyone on the dance floor for more than thirty seconds before he began to blush. In fact, that was the first thing he did when he stepped into the nightclub and got a good look at the people rubbing against one another in the crowd.

That was actually a lie—he _first_ started blushing after Natasha asked him to dance. It suggested doing what the people were doing on the dance floor and, frankly, even though it didn’t seem like such an unappealing—if not totally disrespectful—idea, Steve had told her no. Well, considering the fact that he was still struggling for words at both her question _and_ her outfit, he mostly just shook his head and buried his nose in the drink Bucky had shoved at him as soon as he sat down. She briefly looked disappointed at his rejection, but it passed as quickly as it came and she shrugged, knocking back a few vodka shots before slinking off to go find another partner.

This lead him to his current predicament.

Steve didn’t know what made him more uncomfortable—the prospect of publically grinding against Natasha, or _watching somebody else_ publically grind against Natasha. The only thing even remotely good about the situation was that it wasn’t _Bucky_ grinding against her (he had sauntered off after a long-legged brunette minutes ago), but that didn’t do much to put Steve at ease. He might have felt better if she was wearing something… _different_ , as opposed to the black, backless halter top she currently donned. It was half made up of silk, had an _embarrassingly_ —for Steve, that is—low neckline, and wrapped around her creamy shoulders with two thick straps. Her tight-fitting jeans were no help, either; they were dark blue and hugged all of her curves. She topped the outfit off with a pair of red wedges that Steve didn’t even know she owned, as well as some gold hoop earrings that glimmered nicely against her rosy cheeks and looped beneath her curled hair. She wasn't wearing much makeup; though, there probably wasn't really any point if she was going to sweat it off anyway, but her lips were shiny with some sort of clear gloss that Steve earlier noticed smelt faintly of strawberries.

Basically, what Steve was trying to get at was that Natasha looked absolutely _stunning_. And, okay, maybe he was a little jealous—and annoyed—that he had been too stupid to take her up on her offer, and now she was out there dancing with some schmuck in skinny jeans instead of himself. Despite this, Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. Natasha moved as if she was in her own world, body flowing smoothly like water, just like it did when Steve had caught her in the dance studio all those weeks ago. This was different, though. It was less intimate than watching her dance ballet, even though it was more sensual, by far. She did all the work, really; snaking her hands in the air and moving her hips while the guy pressed up against her backside mostly held his hands on her waist and swayed in whatever direction she went. Nothing about this held the same grace and beauty of what he knew Natasha was capable of; it was rushed, ragged, and it made Steve's stomach churn with something nasty.

"Can I get you another drink?"

Steve looked up from Natasha and her "dance" partner and at a golden-haired woman that had stepped up to his table. She was smiling down at him, though based on her uniform-like outfit, Steve knew that it was probably in her job requirements to do so.

He glanced down at the barely-touched beer in front of him. "Ah, no. Thanks, though."

The woman smiled again and made a move to turn away, though she apparently changed her mind at the last second and tucked the black tray she was holding beneath her arm. "You've ever been to SHIELD before? You don't look..."

"That obvious?" Steve scoffed, smiling himself. "No, this is my first time. I'm not...this isn't really my thing. I got dragged out by a couple of friends."

She glanced subtly over at the dance floor. Steve followed her gaze to Natasha, and he resisted clenching his jaw. "You mean like her?" When Steve didn't answer, she quickly screwed her face up in apology. "I'm sorry, it's not my place. Have a good night."

"No, it's okay. You're right," Steve quickly said as the waitress started to leave again. When she turned back around, he gave her a friendlier smile than he had before. "I'm Steve."

"Sharon," she replied, nodding. "Are you sure you don't want another drink? To be honest, I've been watching you for a while. It's not unusual when we get people in here that are shyer than normal, but they eventually loosen up after a few drinks. I thought it was weird when you just sat here and barely touched your beer."

Steve shrugged. "Yeah, turns out I'm not really a drinker. Frankly, I'd rather be home."

"Me too, but unfortunately, I have rent to pay," Sharon joked. Steve couldn't help but chuckle at that. She glanced over at Natasha again. "Is she your girlfriend?"

He let out a deep breath. "No."

"Seriously?"

"Why would I lie? Least of all to a stranger," Steve replied, though he wasn't annoyed. "She's just a friend. I mean, you pointed her out as such, didn't you?"

"I did, but even a  _stranger_ like me noticed the way you were looking at her," Sharon said. "Typically, that's not how a friend looks at another friend. Unless, they do things differently from where you come..." _  
_

Steve chuckled. "I come from Brooklyn, so, no, things aren't done differently where I come from."

Sharon tilted her head to the side. "Then, if I were you, Steve, I'd probably go out there with her."

She had a glint in her eye. Was she really flirting with him while also encouraging him to go after another girl? Women confused him.

"You know, I don't usually take advice from strangers," Steve responded.

"Take it, don't take it," she shrugged and turned around. "It's up to you. I just don't want to have to come back and clean up all the glass from your beer bottle when you break it in half after watching her dance with somebody that isn't you all night."

And then she left. Steve wanted to be angry with her, he really did. Who was this random girl to tell him what to do with his own personal life? In a matter of minutes, no less? But he couldn't get mad at her, because Steve knew when to admit when someone else was right, stranger or no.

And  _god_ , was Sharon-the-Waitress right.

It was a few minutes after she left that Steve finally got up from the table, and even then he hardly could believe what he was doing. Natasha was still out there with the same guy, though now she had turned around in his arms so that their chests were pressed together, and not her back to his front. Steve clenched his fists at this, but the sight only made him move faster, until a hand wrapped around his shoulder and he spun around.

It was Bucky. He looked positively tipsy. "Woah, man! You finally left your nest!" He frowned when Steve moved out from under his hand. "Where are you going?" Steve didn't say anything, but even in his woozy state, Bucky saw how he glanced at the blur of red hair and black silk on the dance floor. A knowing smile, maybe even a proud one, crossed his face, and suddenly Steve didn't even know if he had even been all that drunk in the first place. "Go get her, man."

With that, Bucky nudged him on the shoulder and Steve was walking again. Despite his best friend's encouraging words, the brief distraction now had the blond reeling with doubt. Was this  _really_ all that smart? Firstly, he had only learned to dance a few weeks ago, and even then he was limited to swaying to jazz music. The music—he'd hardly call it music; it was mostly just loud bass and techno beats, but never mind that—that was playing now required what was probably borderline public indecency. He liked Natasha,  _really_ liked Natasha, and if anything were to happen between them, he was pretty sure he didn't want it to end with him embarrassing himself in the middle of a crowded dance floor.

That was when Natasha's partner snaked his hands up her body until they were barely grazing the underside of her breasts, and Steve had had enough.

"Hey, buddy. You mind if I cut in?" Steve was unmoving, which probably looked odd considering he was standing amidst a sea of gyrating bodies, but he frankly didn't care.

The guy looked up from where he had his face buried in Natasha's hair, a scowl already formulating on his sweaty features. "I'm kinda busy here, man."

Steve clenched his jaw and frowned, and in fact was about two seconds away from yanking the guy off of Natasha when she snapped her eyes open and smiled at him. "It's about time, soldier," she drawled, barely panting with the exertion of dancing, and Steve's Adam's apple bobbed in a long swallow. He watched as she grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket and slid away from the other guy, flicking her head in a direction that told him to get lost.

The guy glanced between Steve and Natasha, looking as if he was about to start a fight, but Steve had about five inches on him and looked pretty menacing when the strobe lights cast shadows on his face. With that, the other man left, swearing under his breath and shaking his head as he slinked off towards the bar. As soon as he was out of sight Natasha turned, placing her hands on Steve's shoulders and smirking up at him with renewed interest.

Steve suddenly became nervous again, standing as stiff as a board as Natasha raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him. "You alright there, Rogers?"

"Yeah, I just...I didn't really think this far ahead," he stammered in response, smiling sheepishly.

"Don't worry. I'll show you," Natasha said softly, reaching down and placing Steve's hands on her hips just like she did when they first danced together. When Steve swallowed and glanced around at the people around them, she added, "These people aren't paying you any mind, and you have nothing to be self-conscious about. They're focused on their own partners, so just do the same, okay?"

Steve nodded. "Won't be a problem, ma'am."

Natasha shook her head but smiled nonetheless. "Charmer."

Natasha wasn't as nearly as intense with him as she was with her previous partner, and Steve was grateful for it. He honestly wasn't sure how he would have handled having her snake against his body like he had watched her do from afar; he probably would have been torn between pushing her away and holding her closer. And she was also right; nobody, not even the people that bumped into them every so often, was paying attention to them; they were all too caught up in their own fast-paced foreplay to even care about Steve and Natasha practically slow-dancing to the electronic music blaring from the speakers. 

And then, Steve wanted more. He blamed it again on the honey and pears, the scent still strong in her hair and effectively driving him crazy once again. Natasha half-chuckled, half-gasped as Steve turned her around in his arms, wrapping them loosely around her midsection and swaying faster with the music. He made sure not to press his pelvis up against her for obvious reasons, and in turn Natasha curled her arms around the back of his neck and brought his head down until his mouth was hovering right beside her ear. She tipped her head back so that it rested on his shoulder, looking up at him though half-lidded eyes and with parted lips as she panted softly.

It was an exotic sight. She smelt vaguely like vodka, and he wondered how much she had had to drink since those few shots at the table she had taken earlier, but he was honestly too enraptured by the sight of her to wonder about it any further. The feel of her shoulder blades flexing against his chest, her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, it was almost too much and not enough all at the same time. Then his eyes fell to her lips again and, well, he was a goner. He looked into her own green orbs, flashing with the strobe lights, but he saw her confirmation nonetheless.

He was going to kiss her. He wanted it more than anything and she wanted it, too. It was finally—

The music stopped, and Natasha paused. Steve paused, too. The crowd had turned to face the DJ booth, and suddenly all of the courage washed out of Steve's body. Natasha's fingers tightened in his hair for the briefest of seconds before she closed her eyes, let out a shaky breath, and let go.

_Stupid, Steve. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He was just about to say something, maybe even pull her back into his arms, when a voice blared out from the speakers overhead.

"Alright, everybody. It's that time of the night," the DJ announced, and the crowd around Steve began to thrum with renewed energy. People raised their hands in the air, others raised glasses. Steve just stood there, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world, and stared at the back of Natasha's unmoving head. "The ball's gonna drop in 3...2...1..."

There was a loud cheering sound and suddenly the crowd was moving again, only this time it wasn't to resume dancing. Almost every couple on the floor turned to one another and met for a kiss, as per New Year's tradition, Steve supposed. He felt awkward, like he shouldn't be watching— _like he should be doing the same thing—_ but it was as if his legs had been turned to stone and he couldn't walk away. God, he was so stupid. A big, fumbling, unsure idiot. Had anything really changed since he was five-foot-four, scrawny and sickly and—?

Before he even knew what was happening, Natasha had turned around and pressed her body against his, yanking his head down to hers by the lapels of his jacket and pressing her lips to his. At that moment, a million different thoughts coursed through his mind. One of them was that,  _yes,_ Natasha's lip gloss tasted like strawberries just as much as it smelled like them. Another one was that she was incredibly  _soft,_ lips creamy and plump as he sucked her bottom lip between his and finally worked up the strength to place his hands on her hips. She let out a quiet gasp, slipped her arms up his body until they were locked securely around his neck again, and kissed him once more before she pulled away, breathing unsteady and eyes closed.

When she finally opened them, she leaned her forehead against his and looked into his eyes. "Happy New Years, Steve."

It was a happy new year, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely shorter than the others, but I think it was worth it, yes?
> 
> (Warning: this is not the end. So brace yourselves.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to let you guys know...it's going to get really angsty from here. I didn't play up that kiss as much for the sole reason that I didn't want it to be their _real_ , real kiss, if that makes sense. I _did_ try to warn you guys at the last chapter's end notes, if not vaguely!
> 
> With that, enjoy (or yell at me for being rude. It's okay, I understand)!

When Natasha woke up, the first thing she processed was _headache_.

Normally, it was hard for her to get hungover. It was also hard for her to get _drunk_ , but apparently that hadn’t been much of a problem the night before. Truthfully, she didn’t even remember coming home—well, back to the Barnes’ home—let alone leaving the club in the first place. In all honesty, after Steve rejected her offer to dance, she nearly killed a whole bottle of vodka to herself; and the good kind, too, courtesy of Stark’s credit card she still had on hand from when she bought Steve’s jeans. It was no wonder why she felt like such a pallid mess at the moment, her stomach threatening to unleash all of its contents on the floor.

She briefly allowed herself the luxury of moving her fingers (and her fingers only, afraid that her head would roll off her spine if she tried otherwise) and process that she was, in fact, on Steve’s bed, before she strained her ears and tried to listen if Steve himself was even in the room. Usually, he snored lightly, but she couldn’t hear anything at that moment except for the sounds of her gut bubbling with something nasty and Grace rambling down the hall. Even through the bedroom door, the seven year-old’s voice was loud, and Natasha had to screw her eyes shut as it unpleasantly bounced around inside of her skull.

It wasn’t until another twenty minutes that Natasha finally worked up the strength to sit up, and another five after that to push herself on to her feet. She nearly fell back down when the dizziness threatened to shut down every major organ in her body, but she swallowed thickly and pushed through it, hastily tying her hair up in a messy bun before making her way out into the living room.

As soon as it became known that Natasha was awake and, in fact, mobile, Winnie had tasked Rebecca with whisking Grace off into their bedroom. Natasha silently thanked both women for that before taking her seat besides an equally hungover-looking Bucky and an annoyingly okay Steve, though he also seemed a bit off-put with something that she frankly didn’t have the strength to ask about at that moment. He simply buried his nose in the ceramic bowl he was cradling in his hands in lieu of muttering a good morning, and Natasha was relieved for the sole reason that she didn’t have to utilize her painfully dry throat to speak yet.

Winnie was already placing a glass of water in front of Natasha, identical to the three empty ones standing in front of her son. “You two look like judgment day came early,” the older woman remarked amusedly, flicking her eyes between Bucky and Natasha.

Bucky made a sort of grumbling sound and Natasha hummed weakly in her glass.

“Don't worry, I'll whip up a good hangover cure," Winnie continued with a wink, "You sure you're fine, Steve?"

Steve made a vague sound. "Yeah."

Bucky lifted his head from where it lay on his folded arms, mouth shiny with saliva and eyes practically swimming in his head. "Lucky you, you"—he briefly paused to let out a wet-sounding burp—"bastard."

Winnie snorted a laugh, flipping something on the stove as she did so. "Don't blame him for your own actions," she lightly chided before waving her spatula between Bucky and Natasha, "I hardly doubt either of you remember jack squat from anything last night?"

When both of them mumbled in the affirmative, Natasha didn't notice how Steve visibly stiffened in his stool next to her. He loudly dropped his spoon in his cereal bowl, making his two friends wince with the noise, and pushed himself away from the breakfast counter with a low mutter of an excuse before disappearing inside of the hallway bathroom without so much as a backwards glance.

"I guess he wasn't off the hook just yet," Bucky managed, accepting the heaping plate of food his mother placed in front of him seconds later. 

Natasha made a faint sound of agreement, but as she stared down at her own plate Winnie gave her not long after that, her stomach began to rumble with something that had nothing to do with the alcohol. She didn’t know exactly what it was, but it sure felt an awful like uncertainty…

…and like she had done something terribly, terribly wrong.

* * *

How did I get myself into this situation?

_Steve quickly learned two things later on that night. One, Bucky was a lightweight when it came to alcohol; and two, Natasha was much, much heavier than she looked, especially when drunk. He was currently struggling to get both of them through the front door of the house, Bucky completely unconscious and slung over his shoulder and Natasha barely managing to stay on her own two feet as he gently helped her up the steps and inside. He might have accidentally bumped Bucky’s head on the doorframe, but decided that he probably hadn’t even felt it and that what he really needed to worry about now was making sure Natasha didn’t knock anything over on her way to their bedroom._

_Steve also learned that Natasha’s ballerina grace never left her, not even when inebriated, but the mask she almost always wore to hide her emotions did slip—if the way she had kissed him in the nightclub was any indication, however. After he finally dropped his arms from around Natasha on the dance floor, he swiftly found that she was, in fact, terribly drunk, and Steve thought his heart had never dropped so fast, not even when Peggy had told him she was going back to England. It had felt real, didn’t it? The kiss. It_ did _, at least to Steve, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty that he had kissed Natasha when she wasn’t even in the clearest state of mind._

 _He pushed those thoughts out of his mind for the time being, in favor of concentrating on getting Bucky safely into bed without waking anybody in the house up. When Steve dropped his best friend on the bed with a small bounce, Bucky almost stirred awake, but curled in around his pillow seconds later and let out an almost deafening snore that told Steve that he wouldn’t have to worry about him for the rest of the night. With that, he swallowed and went back out to Natasha—Natasha, who he had kissed when she had the taste of strawberries and vodka on her lips. Natasha, who had kissed_ him _first but still, it still wasn’t right. At least, not in Steve’s book. No, he couldn’t deny that it felt good, that he liked it, but that didn’t mean that he was fine with it once he realized that Natasha was about two more shots of vodka away from passing out._

_Apparently, pushing the thoughts out of his mind proved harder a task than he initially anticipated, and he had anticipated it to be pretty damn difficult. It didn’t help that she was right there, standing in front of him looking dazed but nonetheless beautiful, her lip gloss smudged and probably blended somewhere in his own skin. The notion made him swallow guiltily, and Natasha gave him a coy, yet amused smile._

_“What’s wrong, Rogers? You…uncomfortable?” She gave him a not so subtle onceover._

_Steve rushed forward and, after briefly hesitating, clamped his hand down over her mouth. “Keep your voice down, Nat,” he warned, wanting desperately to take his hands off of her but deciding that it probably wouldn’t make things any better in the end._

_He felt Natasha’s lips shift in a smirk beneath his palm, and then the soft flicker of her tongue against his skin as she deliberately licked her lips. He twitched at the contact but held his ground, looking her square in the eye as her own green orbs twinkled with mischief. When Steve did nothing but stare back at her, however, her eyes fell flat and she sighed impatiently._

_“Fine,” she mumbled against his hand._

_Steve let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. “Thank you.”_

_With that, Steve moved her along the hallway and into their shared bedroom, not bothering to flick on the lights and instead sitting her down on the edge of the bed by memory. The street light standing outside provided just enough light to illuminate the room in a dim glow, and he could see how Natasha’s features suddenly looked tired; exhausted, even, and not from sleep._

_Concerned, Steve sat down next to her. “Hey, you alright?”_

_Natasha grit her teeth. The shift of her mood was more than evident; she went from flirtatious to angry, maybe even sad, within a matter of seconds. It made him anxious. “You’re not like him,” she murmured._

_“Who?” Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “Not like who?”_

_“_ Him, _” she turned to look at him, eyes wide but full of spite, though he could tell the hatred wasn’t directed at Steve himself._

_“Nat, I don’t kn—”_

_“It doesn’t matter,” she sighed, waving her hand in dismal. “It doesn’t matter. He’s right. I’ll go back, it’s just a matter of time.”_

_“Natasha. What are you talking about?”_

_She wasn’t listening to him. “I’m going to hurt you. I’m a hypocrite. I hate him, but I’m not better.”_

_“No, you won’t,” Steve tried, taking her hand in his. “You aren’t. You—”_

_Natasha yanked her hand away, as if he was made of acid and it was eating her skin alive. “You don’t know anything about me. Don’t you get it? I’m trying to warn you. Why are you so fucking_ self-sacrificing _?”_

 _Steve leaned back now, looking as if he had just been struck in the gut. Not like Natasha noticed. “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m trying to help you? To be_ here _for you?”_

_“Yeah, well,” she began, biting her lip harshly and fixing her gaze out the window._

_“’Well’_ what _, Natasha? He, whoever the hell he is, is not here. I am. Steve. I’m not going to hurt you, and you’re not going to hurt me, okay?”_

_Natasha blinked at him, and she was quiet for an unnervingly long time. Still, Steve didn’t look away, didn’t break his gaze. She was crying. He had never seen her cry before, and it made him feel like he was crumbling inside. Did he do that? Or was it the other he, the one whose name she wouldn’t or couldn’t say; the one that hurt her?_

_He didn’t get a chance to voice any of these questions, because Natasha leaned forward and pressed their lips together for the second time that night, and though it was slow, it was also chaste; no tongue and all tenderness. He even felt the way her fingers trembled against his jawline as she reached up and cupped his face, and right when he was about rest his own hand on her knee, she pulled away. Steve wasn’t going to push her. It was another drunken kiss, one that he would inevitably feel guilty about in the morning, but that didn’t stop him from frowning in confusion as Natasha laid down, turned her back to him, and curled her knees into her chest. Still, he was silent as he swallowed and pulled the blanket up her trembling body, changing into a pair of sweats and climbing into his own makeshift bed on the floor moments later, when he thought for sure that she had fallen asleep._

_She hadn’t. “Steve, you don’t regret this, do you?”_

_It took him a while to respond. He was torn, because no, he didn’t regret it, but then_ yes _, he did. It wasn’t right. Natasha wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning, when he would. He couldn’t bring any of this up again without alarming her, without scaring her away. And she would probably never tell him on her own account, at least not anytime soon, because it was obviously something very, very raw that she had tried her hardest not to touch._

_Finally, Steve let out a sigh. “Do you?”_

_Natasha didn’t answer, only softly snored._

* * *

Steve wasn’t talking to her.

Well, he _was_ , but it was different. Yeah, he still joked, and yeah, he still teased, but it was _different_. The emotion never reached his eyes, never felt the same as it did before, and she found herself wondering over and over again if she had done something wrong to make him so distant. Did it have something to do with the nightclub? She _did_ get blackout drunk, and, honestly, her memories from that night were more than a little hazy, but it wasn’t like Steve to beat around the bush. Surely, he’d have told her if something happened, whatever it may be, right?

Natasha briefly thought about going to Bucky, but once she realized that his memories were probably even worse than hers, she decided against it. Besides, even though she liked the guy, Bucky would have probably made a bigger deal out of whatever was going on than it already was. Things were already odd enough, what with Steve forcing every bit of conversation he had from the morning after New Year’s and on. Even Grace, who Steve absolutely adored, couldn’t bring out any genuine emotion out of him. He was like a chameleon; only putting on emotion to blend in, to make sure nobody caught on to what he was really feeling inside. He was...well, he was like _Natasha_ , at least how she was before she met him. The only thing was that Steve was too much of an open book to get away with it. All of his friends and family knew that he practically wore his heart out on his sleeve, so the odd front he was putting up didn’t go unnoticed by anyone, not even a seven year-old little girl.

Still, nobody questioned him about it. Or maybe they had, but in private and when no one else was around, but Natasha highly doubted that due to the fact that no moves had been taken to _help_ Steve yet. Everyone just went about with their business—Winnie slapping together meals; Bucky teasing and joking; Rebecca acting sheepish and exasperated; Grace scaling Steve like a tree. Natasha watched it all, watched _Steve,_ and she kept watching him until one night when they were both lying awake in the dark, she finally had enough.

“Steve?” He didn’t reply for a while. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, even though he couldn’t see her. “Steve, I know you’re awake.”

He breathed in deeply. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replied lightly, lowly. “Why do you ask?”

Natasha flicked her eyes to where she knew he was laying, even though she couldn’t see him over the edge of the bed. “I…I don’t know. You just seemed… _off_ , these past couple of days.”

Steve didn’t answer for a moment. Then he surprised her by actually sitting up so he could see her face. “I’m okay, really. I’ve just had a lot on my mind. You know, school and stuff.”

“Yeah,” she wasn’t sure she exactly believed him, but then he gave her a small smile and she couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, sorry. I was just worried.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he replied, voice soft. He sounded genuinely regretful. “But I’m fine.”

Natasha nodded and Steve settled back down. It was quiet for the moment, save for the sounds of Steve’s breathing and the occasional car honking outside, and Natasha felt the nagging trickle of uncertainty rolling around in her stomach again. She stared up at the ceiling and clenched her fingers around the comforter bunched around her body, chewing on her lip as the sounds of Steve’s breathing suddenly became the only thing echoing in her ears.

She sighed and flattened her palms out on the sheets. “Steve?”

His response was quicker this time. “Yeah?”

“ _We’re_ okay, right?”

Steve let out a quiet breath. She waited patiently for his response. His breathing suddenly became quieter, as if he was self-conscious about the volume, as if he didn’t want his presence to be known in the room any longer. Slowly, Natasha felt her stomach close in on itself; the uncertainty was eating her whole. She hated it. Until a few days ago, uncertainty had been a foreign feeling for her. She was so used to being _sure_ , to being independent, that she had never really prepared herself for what it would be like to not know what the hell to do or think for the first time in her life.  And, of course, leave it to Steve Rogers to make her feel that way.

When he began to answer, Natasha found herself unwittingly holding her breath, though it came out in a quiet gasp as she felt Steve’s fingers reach up to gently— _reassuringly_ —squeeze her own.

“Yeah, Nat,” he whispered softly, “We’re okay.”

That night, Natasha fell asleep feeling a bit better than she had over the past couple of days.

* * *

He knew that it was mostly childish that he was more or less ignoring her.

Not _ignoring_ her, per se, but he knew he was being distant. He also knew that he wasn’t getting away with it, either, but what else was he supposed to do? Just act like that night didn’t happen? Just act like Natasha hadn’t kissed him, _twice_ , and opened herself up to him before closing in just as quickly? Would anyone else act differently had they been in his shoes?

No, they wouldn’t have, which was exactly why Steve knew how he was acting was wrong. He wasn’t improving anything by distancing himself from not only Natasha, but everyone else, as well. He wasn’t being the bigger person. He was being selfish. It wasn’t like Natasha knew what she had done, and he was holding that information against her. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _him_.

It didn’t help once he realized how much he was probably hurting Natasha. It didn’t help when she asked if he was okay, as if he was the one that needed help and not her. It made his chest tighten with something strong—guilt, probably. His mother raised him better than to judge people on things that were beyond their control; on things that haunted them in secret. Hell, _Winnie_ raised him better than that, too. And Natasha, well, she made him want to be better. He owed her that much. He was doing nothing but disrespecting her by pushing her away.

That’s not to say that he totally forgot everything Natasha had told him that night. That’s not to say that he forget about the kiss—kiss _es_. He wasn’t just going to brush all of that under the rug, but he wasn’t going to disregard his friendship with Natasha, either. He hadn’t been lying when he told her that he wanted to help her, wanted to be there for her. He cared for her, and just because she had walls built up all around her, guarding her and all of her problems from the outside world, didn’t mean that he was just going to _give up_. He trusted that she’d open up to him, at least after some time. He couldn’t push her; he’d have to be patient. And if there was one thing Steve had a hell of a lot of, it was patience.

Things, for the most part, returned to normal. Natasha never asked if anything was wrong between them again and they fell back into their quick-minded banter and easy conversation. With that, the rest of the break went by pretty quickly. For the most part, they stayed home. Steve was thankful that Bucky hadn’t tried to drag them out to any nightclubs again, though he had a feeling that his best friend was probably going to stay away from alcohol and another possible hangover for at least a little while. Sometimes, the three of them went out to see a movie or, on one occasion, went ice skating. Natasha, unsurprisingly, was a natural; using her lithe limbs to skate circles around a fumbling Bucky and Steve. At one point, Bucky actually flipped over the arena’s railing, and he threatened to make Steve and Natasha walk home in the snow if they didn’t agree to take him home right that second to save him from any further embarrassment. The two complied, although they continued to tease him about the incident over the next couple of days, refusing to let him live the fall down.

Then time came for Steve and Natasha to go back to school. As they were outside, hauling their luggage into the back of Bucky’s borrowed truck, Grace positively refused to let go of Steve’s leg, which she had wrapped all four of her limbs around as soon as he and Natasha began to say goodbye. Even as Bucky tried to coax his little sister off of his best friend, she simply buried her head in Steve’s calf and held on tighter. When Steve finally felt the little girl’s tears bleed through his pant leg, he bent down and scooped her up into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder and wrapping her in a warm hug.

“I won’t be gone for long, Gracie,” Steve murmured soothingly, running his hand through her chocolate brown strands. She made a noise of protest in the crook of his neck and tightened her hands in the fabric of his jacket. “How about this: every week, anytime I’m free, I’ll call you, okay? And if I find the time, I’ll come by and visit.”

Grace was silent, unmoving except for the faint sniffle of her nose against his collar.

“Hey, look at me,” he whispered, and was thankful when she obliged. “Do you know what Stark Tower is? That big building in Manhattan?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha smirk. When Grace nodded quietly, he continued, “My friend lives there. Matter of fact, his dad owns it. It has a pool, movie theatres, even a laser tag arena. What do you say I take you there sometime? I promise.”

Grace hesitated for a moment, then, without looking, pointed at Natasha. “You have to bring the princess, too.”

Natasha laughed, nodding, before Steve smiled at the little girl in his arms. “Of course. What’s a tower without its princess?”

“Just an ugly building,” Grace managed a small smile of her own, sniffing and wiping the tears away from her eyes stubbornly. She wrapped her arms around Steve’s neck and squeezed tightly. “I love you, Steve.”

“Love ya too, kiddo,” he whispered back, “Can I put you down now?”

After Grace nodded, Steve set her down and she walked over to Natasha. Without a second thought, the redhead bent down and pulled the little girl in a tight hug of her own, kissing her on the cheek as she pulled away. “It was nice meeting you, Grace. Make sure your brother doesn’t get into too much trouble while we’re away, alright? Steve and I won’t be here to beat him up.”

Winnie, who had appeared at the doorway, laughed fondly. “The three of us can handle that, no problem.”

“Hey!” Bucky called, frowning. “Steve brings _one_ girl over and suddenly you’re all betraying me. You see what you do, Romanoff?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just admit you’re going to miss me, James.”

“I don’t have to admit anything, at least not until I drop you guys off back at the campus,” he retorted, walking past her and climbing behind the truck’s steering wheel. Steve and Natasha went to go say their goodbyes to Rebecca and Winnie, the latter supplying them with multiple containers of leftover food that she had apparently made because she didn’t want them to starve when they went back to school. After Steve assured her that they ate regularly on their own, Winnie smacked him on the head and told him to “take the damn food,” before engulfing both him and Natasha in a double-hug and wishing them luck. With that, they climbed into the truck, waving their goodbyes as Bucky pulled away from the house and on to the street.

When they got to the campus thirty minutes later, Bucky helped Steve and Natasha unload their luggage on to the sidewalk. It wasn't until the three of them were just standing there that Bucky finally let out a deep sigh, stepping forward and clapping Steve on the back before pulling away and playfully punching him on the shoulder. "Don't be a stranger, okay?" Steve nodded, and he turned to Natasha. "And you, make sure he stays out of trouble. I won't be able to save his scrawny ass all the way from Brooklyn."

"Scrawny? I'm bigger than you," Steve scoffed, smiling.

Natasha rolled her eyes, albeit affectionately. "You don't have to worry about him. He's safe with me."

"I don't doubt it," Bucky smirked, before leaning down and giving Natasha a hug of his own. "I'm really relieved you were actually likeable. When Steve first said he was bringing a girl over for the break, I was kind of afraid that you were going to be snarky and annoying." His smirk deepened. "Oh, wait. You are."

"Get lost, James," Natasha shook her head and pushed Bucky away with a grin. "I'm glad to know that my worries about Steve's best friend being an over-confident idiot were true."

Steve chuckled. "I really do surround myself with the best people."

"Yeah, you do," Bucky smiled, gripping his friend's shoulder for the last time. "I guess I better go now. I don't want to risk any girls I've dated in the past sniffing me out. I won't make it out of here alive."

"You better hurry, then. That's a lot of girls," Steve called as Bucky hopped back into the truck.

Bucky started the car. "You're such a punk, you know that?"

Steve chuckled as they watched the truck pull out of the quad and disappear down the road, grabbing their luggage and walking with Natasha until the pathway forked off in different directions to either of their dorms. The two of them stopped, and Steve was just about to say goodbye when Natasha suddenly lifted on to her tip-toes, briefly brushing her lips against his cheek. 

"What was that for?" Steve asked, eyes slightly wide when she pulled away.

"It was a thank you. I had a great time these past two weeks," she smiled. With that, she began to turn away, rolling her suitcase behind her as Steve watched her go. It wasn't until she was a few feet away that she turned around again and said, "Don't stay rooted there for too long. You'll eventually get frostbite, soldier."

Steve couldn't help but grin at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the ending turned out a bit fluffier there than I initially anticipated, but I'm warning you now: the angst is not over. Oh, boy. I'm just letting you know that the next two chapters at the very least are not going to be all fluffy and innocent kissing.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *clenches fist* angst.
> 
> Or, at least, I tried.

He liked her. He really, _really_ liked her. He liked how easy he got along with her; how much she understood him and he understood her without either of them having to speak a single word. He liked how she laughed at all of his jokes, even the ones _he_ knew weren’t even funny. He liked how she had to look up when she spoke to him, because he was almost an entire foot taller than her. He liked how even though she _was_ shorter than him, she always seemed bigger, stronger; like she could overpower him any given second. Perhaps that should have been something that made him wary, but it didn’t. Never let it be said that Steve Rogers didn’t know how to appreciate a strong woman.

Still, that didn’t stop him from being utterly and completely _confused_ as to where his and Natasha’s relationship stood. It was clearly something past platonic, that much was for sure. Even though she didn’t remember the kisses they shared during that one night in his old bedroom, he felt the tenderness in the way she kissed his cheek their first day back on campus. And even if she _hadn’t_ kissed him, what was he to make of the way she almost instinctively curled into his side when they watched a movie at one of their apartments? What was he to do when he woke up the next morning, having apparently fallen asleep on the couch sometime before the end credits started rolling, and Natasha was still there, her face pressed to his chest and her fingers slightly clenched around the t-shirt covering his abdomen? What was he supposed to say when he needed to get up and leave for class, but she just lay there, unmoving, _unwilling_ to let go of his warmth?

What was he supposed to _think_ when all of the above became a routine?

He didn’t know. He probably never  _would_ know, at least not when he and Natasha seemed to be caught in the abyss between friends and something… _more_.

So, as he sat on his and Clint’s couch, with Natasha’s head snoring softly in his lap and as the menu music to _The Godfather_ played on loop for about the fiftieth time since the movie ended, Steve didn’t do anything. At least, none of the things that he wanted to do—had wanted to do probably ever since she slipped into his bed that one fateful night, looking for Clint but instead finding a stranger; _a new friend_. He didn’t wake Natasha up, didn’t curl a finger under her chin and stare at her lips until she murmured the gentle confirmation to kiss her. He didn’t push her up until she was in a sitting position and demand that she clarify what she wanted from him, what she wanted him to give her. He didn’t brush his fingers through her hair and whisper some dangerously intimate words in her ear, words that he couldn’t yet bring himself to utter out loud, let alone give free roam inside his own mind. He didn’t do any of that. He _couldn’t_ do any of that. So, instead, he turned off the television and willed himself to go to sleep. He needed to stick to their routine.

 _Stick to the routine, Steve._ _Natasha is, so why shouldn’t you?_

_Because I’m not sure I can for much longer. Not like this._

* * *

This time, it was Clint who asked her the question, not Maria.

“What’s going on with you and Rogers?”

Natasha looked up from the salad she was pushing around with her fork. Clint wasn’t looking at her, just twirling a drumstick— _where did he even get that?_ —between his fingers and watching it go by his eyes in a blur of smooth wood. Involuntarily, Natasha clenched her own fingers around the neck of the plastic fork in her hand, crunching tensely on a crouton as she cleared her throat and rolled her shoulders.

“What do you mean?”

It was a stupid question. Of course she knew what he meant. Ever since they had returned from winter break, things had been different between her and Steve. It wasn’t the same distance that he had tried to put between them during the last week of their vacation, but something…hell, she couldn’t even put her finger on it. They were just _closer_. And, seriously, wasn’t that what usually happened when you spent two weeks with someone and their family in their home?

If so, why did it feel different?

Clint was replying to her. He shrugged, still not looking away from the drumstick. “He’s just been acting different, is all. I thought you two might’ve gotten into a fight or something.”

“No,” she paused, toying with a soggy lettuce leaf. “We’re fine.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. He obviously didn’t believe her, which he, in all honesty, had every right in the world not to. Hell, _Natasha_ didn’t even believe what she was saying. She didn’t like admitting when she didn’t have a grip on things, and god knew that she hadn’t had a grip on damn near anything for the past few months. Not since that night. Not since she met Steve.

“You sure about that?”

Natasha angled her jaw in annoyance. “Yes, I’m sure. Why do you care, anyway?”

Clint stopped spinning the drumstick, setting it down on the tabletop with a slap of wood-on-wood that probably wasn’t as loud as Natasha thought it to be. “Because you two are my closest friends,” he answered, features soft once he looked at her. “I care when my friends are or aren’t fighting.”

A rare wave of guilt washed over Natasha as she let out a breath and pushed her hair away from her face. “Right, of course. I’m sorry.”

“Nat,” Clint started, leaning forward to squeeze her hand in reassurance. When she met his eyes, they were full of a gentleness that was rare to him, one that he mostly only used when Natasha was having problems. “Seriously, are you okay? You know you can trust me.”

“I know that. It’s not about whether I can trust you or not, it’s just…” She sighed again. “Fuck. I don’t even know. It’s complicated.”

He grinned. “Everything’s complicated with you, even the way you take your coffee in the morning.” She gave him an eye roll, though she couldn’t help the faint smile that flickered across her lips. “It’s okay, though. You wouldn’t be nearly as fun now if you weren’t.”

Her features sobered. “Is being fun really worth all the complication?”

Clint shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you have fun with _Steve_ , despite all the complication?”

“Yeah,” she answered quietly.

“Would you give up your friendship with him just because things were complicated?” When she didn’t answer, Clint squeezed her fingers again. “Nothing ever goes smooth-sailing, Nat. You, of all people, should know this. Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on between you two, and I’m pretty you guys don’t even know, either. But if you like him, you should tell him. You can’t tip-toe around it forever.”

Natasha chuckled quietly. “You get one serious girlfriend and suddenly you’re an expert, huh, Barton?”

“Didn’t you know? I’m Cupid. I come with the bow and everything,” he grinned, and it wasn’t until after her laughter subsided that he fell serious again and continued, “But really, Nat. You can't ignore your feelings for him for the rest of your life. He might not be there when you've finally decided what you want."

Natasha chewed her lip and glanced away. "I know."

"Then what  _do_ you want?"

That was the question, wasn’t it? That’s what it always came down to. What did she want, beyond falling asleep on the couch and waking up in Steve’s lap? What did she want, beyond his comforting warmth and kind smiles? What did she want, beyond his _friendship_?

She wanted a lot, and that terrified her. _Natasha Romanoff_ , terrified. Even when Alexei broke into her apartment, she wasn’t terrified. She was shaken up, angry, but not _terrified_. So why was she scared of the thought of having something more with Steve? This sweet, kind man; beautiful inside and out. Why was she afraid of pursuing him, of admitting to him that yes, okay, she liked him a lot, maybe even—

Natasha swallowed thickly, shoving that thought down before it could even be fully formed.

"Tasha," Clint started, still holding her hand. She hadn't realized that she had been clenching her fingers around his own. "Hey. You alright?"

She blinked, before gathering her things and standing up from the table. "I need to talk to Steve."

* * *

An hour later, Natasha opened her apartment door to let Steve in, who she had called and invited over to watch another movie. He was already smiling, a plastic bag filled with to-go containers hanging from one hand and a rented DVD clutched in the other. Wordlessly, she let him in, going into the kitchen to grab them beers as he set up in the living room.

“Maria’s out,” Natasha called, ignoring the bout of nervousness that had suddenly started to bubble in her stomach. “Said something about going on a date. Any idea with who?”

Steve chuckled, accepting the beer she handed him as she joined him in the living area. “Sam might have said something about taking a girl out for dinner tonight.”

“I’m happy for them,” she said, cracking open a to-go container. She busied herself with the steaming chow mein inside, trying not watch Steve bend over and put the movie in the DVD player. The noodles didn’t blend well with the anxiety pooling in her gut, and after a while she set them down in favor of nursing her beer.

She wished it was vodka.

Steve plopped down next to her, causing her to lean slightly into him as his weight pressed down into the cushions. She steadied herself at the last second, thankful that he didn’t notice that she was trying not to brush against him, and crossed her legs at the knee. However, at the same time, Steve leaned forward to pick up one of the to-go containers and his fingers grazed her thigh; he murmured a brief apology as she nodded tightly and took another swig of her beer. Things suddenly felt really cramped, and what she had invited him over to talk about now seemed much harder than she originally thought it would be—which was _a lot_ , considering how she was already nervous enough when she called him and asked him to hang out thirty minutes ago. But now that he was here, sitting beside her like a giant furnace, smelling like Irish Spring and orange chicken, all she wanted to do was curl up next to him and fall asleep, not talk about her _feelings_. She wanted to stay where she felt safe, which was tucked against Steve’s chest, his arm over her shoulders. Just the thought of stepping out of that zone, the thought of shattering it by telling him that she wanted him, _needed_ him more than just what they were now…it absolutely terrified her.

It also made her feel nauseous.

Natasha pushed herself off of the couch, barely having enough time to set her beer on the coffee table with a clatter before shoving past Steve’s legs and stumbling into the hallway bathroom. She could faintly hear Steve calling after her, but it was muffled as she slammed the door behind her and turned on the sink’s faucet. Her ears rang as she fell to her knees in front of the toilet, staring down at the water inside as the sickening bile got caught between bubbling in her stomach and rising up her throat. Tears stung at her eyes as her abdomen clenched almost painfully. Nothing was coming out. Her mouth was dry. Her vision was blurred. Her stomach was knotted. _But nothing was coming out_.  Was she even really sick? Was some part of her, some cowardly, cowardly part of her just trying to ignore the problem at hand? Ignore _Steve_?

There was a knock on the door. Natasha couldn’t even muster the strength to tell him to go away, so Steve tentatively opened it a few seconds later and stepped inside, a concerned expression on his face as he shut the door again behind him and crouched down to her level. She couldn’t look him in the eye, especially not when she had her hands gripped on the sides of the damn toilet, not when her mascara was running down her cheeks and falling on to the collar of her shirt. Steve was quiet for a moment as she bit her lip and turned her head away from him, glaring at a tile that had been broken when she and Maria got drunk and dropped a bottle of tequila on the floor. It had smelt like alcohol in the tiny bathroom for over a month, and even now, with her senses vulnerable, the bitter smell of liquor wafted up her nose and made her gut churn even more. Steve must have seen her flinch, because not long after that he tentatively reached out for her and rubbed a small circle on her back.

Natasha grit her teeth. It was such a _Steve_ thing to do.

“Hey…” he started, voice worried yet soothing. She still couldn’t look at him. “Natasha, breathe. Are you alright?”

It was a dumb question, and she was tired of being asked it. She knew that he and Clint were only trying to look out for her, but the question suddenly felt smothering. _Obvious._ Of course she wasn’t alright. She was dry heaving over a toilet, for heaven’s sake! She was a fucking pathetic mess—getting sick just because she couldn’t handle opening herself up to someone, someone that wasn’t Clint, for them to see and stare and…what, judge? No, Steve wouldn’t judge her. He was better than that. He was better than her.

She was sick because she knew that she didn’t deserve this. _Him_.

It wasn’t until Natasha tensed under his touch that Steve dropped his hand, clearly hesitant to stop touching her but also wanting to respect her boundaries. He drew his hand back, though it was poised in a way that said he was prepared to steady her if she looked like she was going to fall over, and instead regarded her with eyes filled with concern.

“Natasha…”

She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for another wave of nausea to pass before answering. “Just…just go. I’m fine,” she bit out through clenched teeth.

“I’m not leaving,” he stated firmly.

“Steve—”

“ _No,_ Nat, you’re not okay,” he persisted, shifting his legs so that he was sitting on his bottom instead of crouching. She wanted to push him out of the bathroom, _didn’t want him to see her like this_ , but she couldn’t find the strength within her body to do so. “Let me help you.”

She felt a wave of anger course through her body. “I don’t _need_ your help.”

“Jesus Christ, Nat. Why can’t you just accept that you can’t do everything on your own? Don’t _have_ to do everything on your own?”

Natasha glowered. “I’ve managed on my own for a long time, long before I ever met you. So don’t give me that bullshit, alright?”

Steve scoffed angrily. “No. What _you’re_ saying is bullshit. You’re telling me you’ve handled all your crap on your own, without Clint? Without Maria, or Pepper, or even _Stark?_   Without Banner? Thor?” Natasha looked away from him. “Maybe you managed before me. But you weren’t alone, and you’ll never be alone. That’s why you have friends. God, Natasha, that’s why you have _me._ ”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for you.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Natasha immediately regretted them. She screwed her eyes shut as Steve tensed beside her, leaning away ever so slightly as if he even breathed the same air as her for another second he was going to be sick himself. His fists tightened in the bathroom carpet he was sitting on. Natasha parted her lips to speak, racked with guilt and shame beyond repair. “Steve, I didn’t mean that—”

It was too late. He was already standing, yanking the bathroom door open with so much strength that he nearly tore it off its hinges. Natasha ignored it, instead rising just as quickly and calling his name as she hastily followed him out into the living room. Steve was already halfway across the room, ignoring the beers and the takeout and even the stupid movie playing on the television, his movements tense and almost mechanical. When Natasha finally caught up to him, she reached out and her fingers barely grazed the sleeve of his hoodie. Still, she thought she had never felt Steve so _cold_. It was unnervingly different compared to the way he was always so warm, comforting; inviting. She did this to him. It was her fault. So, when he whirled on her seconds later, she told herself that she deserved whatever he was going to spit in her face next, and braced herself for what was to come.

“I lied to you, you know,” his voice was disturbingly calm, though there was a shakiness to it that Natasha couldn’t dismiss. “That night, at Bucky’s house. When you asked me if I was okay. If you and I were okay.” Natasha refused to let the tears that had suddenly blotted beneath her eyelids fall. “I lied. _None_ of it was okay.”

“Steve…”

“No. Let me finish,” he stated firmly. “I lied to you because I cared about you. I wasn’t going to let my own stubbornness affect our relationship. I just wish you could do the same for me.”

“I didn’t mean what I said back there,” she tried, “I was angry. Cornered. I didn’t know what I was saying.”

Steve scoffed irately. “You and I know very well that you’re particular with your words.”

“It’s _different_ —”

“How is it different, Natasha?” Steve shouted. “How is it any different? How is it different from that night after the club—?”

He cut himself off, suddenly realizing that he had slipped up, but nothing ever got past Natasha. She narrowed her eyes at him, jaw set. “What are you talking about?”

Steve couldn’t meet her eye now. “Noth—”

“Don’t. Steve, don’t lie to me.”

“Would it matter if I told you the truth?” He glared bitterly.

“You were mad at me for a reason that I don’t even know about,” Natasha retorted, “So, _yes_ , it fucking matters!”

Steve opened his mouth to retort, but the voice that sounded next did not belong to him. The two of them paused, eyes snapping to the front door, which suddenly began rattling heavily under a fist that was pounding against it. “Natasha!” the voice was yelling, “Open up, babe. I know you’re in there.”

Natasha’s face fell ashen and she could feel a burst of iciness spread from her chest and to the points of her fingers. She was rooted to the spot, her eyes nearly crossing as she stared at the front door clattering on its hinges with each _boom, boom, boom_ of his fist smacking against the wood. _His_ , because she knew it was him. Because she knew that voice and she knew that strength and she knew that _anger_ —

“Who the hell is that?” Steve asked, and all of a sudden all of the fury that was in his voice was gone, replaced by heavy apprehension. “Natasha, who is that?”

When she didn’t immediately respond, he turned and went to go answer the door himself. Natasha grabbed for him at the last second, her hands tightly wrapped around his forearm as she held him back. “Don’t. Let me get it.”

“Natasha—”

“ _Don’t_ , Steve,” she pressed, regaining the feeling in her fingers as she pressed them insistently in the flesh of Steve’s arm. “You’ll just make it worse.”

“Make it worse? I’d say it’s pretty damn bad right now,” he scowled. “Who _is_ that? Is that the guy you were talking about the other night?”

Natasha leaned back. “Is _that_ what happened after the club?”

“You got mad at me. You told me I wasn’t like _him_ ,” he replied, sounding bitter. “You wouldn’t tell me who he was. You just told me that you didn’t need my help, threw that in my face just like—”

“Natasha, open the goddamn door!” He shouted between pounds. By now, he was hitting the door so hard that the wall was shaking around it.

“Look, I need to deal with him,” Natasha said, shoving past Steve and crossing over to the door. “His name is Alexei. He’s my ex-boyfriend. Just stay back there, alright? This isn’t the first time he’s done this.”

Steve glowered. “And you’ve never thought to call the campus police? The _actual_ police? _Something_?” Natasha didn’t respond, instead advancing toward the door, which was close to being detached from its hinges. Quickly, Steve crossed the distance from where he stood and the front door, passing Natasha right before she reached for the knob and pushing her behind him. She protested, tried to shove him out the way, but it was too late; Steve was already pulling the door open, barely registering that the man standing in front of him _reeked_ of alcohol and was sweating so much that it had to be from drugs, before wrapping his fists in Alexei’s collar and shoving him out into the hallway. His shirt felt stale beneath Steve’s fingers, like he’d been wearing it for a couple of days, and his hair was dark and greasy. Steve threw him up against the wall opposite Natasha’s apartment door with enough force to fracture his spine, but Alexei seemed to be too furious to register any pain, as his face contorted into a hideous glare as he made a move to spit in Steve’s face.

The blond easily dodged it and retaliated by holding his arm against Alexei’s throat, loose enough so as not to choke him but tight enough to prevent him from moving anywhere. “What the hell are you doing here?” Steve demanded, getting in his face.

“Who the fuck are you?” Alexei spat back, before looking at Natasha over Steve’s shoulder. “Who the _fuck_ is this?”

“Steve, just let me—” Natasha tried, but Steve ignored her, tightening his fists in Alexei’s shirt and scowling so hard she thought he might pop a blood vessel.

“Nat, go back inside,” Steve told her, trying to refrain from yelling. “Call the police.”

She didn’t move. “That won’t—”

“ _Natasha_.”

Alexei barked a nasty laugh. “Oh, Natasha. Are you _screwing_ him?”

She flinched at his words, but Steve was the one to act. He curled his hand around Alexei’s stubble-covered chin and yanked his face forward so that he wasn’t looking at Natasha anymore. “Don’t talk to her,” Steve growled.

“Why? She’s mine. Not yours,” Alexei grinned darkly.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Steve hissed, “She’s not mine. She’s _definitely_ not yours. She doesn't belong to anybody. So, tell me, what the hell are you doing here?”

Alexei was hysterical. “She’s mine _._ You hear that? Natasha is _mine._ She always comes back to me, not stupid, American frat boys.”

Steve scoffed. “You’re pathetic. Drunk,” he told him, “You’re a poor excuse for a man. Why would she _ever_ come back to you?”

“Because she loves me, unlike y—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Natasha snarled, stepping forward and glaring at Alexei over Steve’s hulking shoulder. “I never fucking _loved_ you. You’re a piece of shit, a junkie.”

“Then explain to me, Natasha, why you came crawling back to me all those times? Is that not love?”

“Love is for children,” she snarled. She didn’t see how Steve flinched at the words. “I came back to you because I thought I deserved a scumbag like you. I came back because I thought I wasn’t any better than you. I let you disrespect me. I let you _embarrass_ me. And for a long time, I blamed you for my hurting. But then I realized that I was the one hurting myself by staying with you,” she narrowed her eyes, getting in his face. “Does that really sound like  _love_ , Alexei?”

His face had darkened with something sinister. He was glowering now, his hands clenching into fists against the wall. “You bitch. You _aren’t_ any better than me. You—”

“ _Shut the fuck up_ ,” Steve growled. Natasha briefly glanced at him, surprised. It was the first she had ever heard him curse, at least that strongly. She watched as Steve pulled Alexei away from the wall. “Natasha, call the police.”

“Steve, it’s not going to fucking work,” whatever surprise she had felt was now replaced with irritation, impatience. “You don’t think I’ve ever tried before? Just let him go. Throw him outside.”

Steve turned, taking his eyes off of Alexei to give her a disbelieving look. “Are you kidding me? He’s just going to come back for you. This asshole needs to be—”

He stopped talking as a wet-sounding snore filled the hallway, and Steve turned his head forward again to find Alexei slumped over, his head limp on his shoulders as he apparently passed out. Steve cursed again, lifting the man up to keep from him sliding down the wall. “We should still call the cops.”

“It’s not worth the trouble. _He’s_ not worth the trouble,” Natasha argued, “He’s not even going to remember this in a few hours. Just toss him into the snow.”

“Natasha—”

She placed her hand on his arm. “Just do it, Steve. Please?”

He held her gaze for a moment, scowling with the decision. Natasha never looked away, never dropped her hand from his arm. It wasn’t until she squeezed it gently, a pleading look in her eye— _Natasha_ _never_ _pleaded_ —that he let out a deep, reluctant sigh and yanked Alexei away from the wall.

“I’ll be back,” Steve said gruffly, suddenly avoiding looking at her as he walked past and dragged Alexei down the hall without another word. Natasha waited in the hallway, ready to do damage control if any of her neighbors came out, but surprisingly, nothing happened. A while had passed since Steve left, and she was just about to go and try to find him when he suddenly appeared around the corner, snowflakes in his hair and on his clothes but alone nonetheless. As soon as she saw him, she turned and walked back into her apartment, knowing full well that he’d follow her inside.

He did. However, when Natasha made a move to touch him again, he coldly moved away, not looking at her as he stepped further into the living room and grabbed his apartment’s keys off of the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

Steve still wasn’t looking at her. “I’m going home.”

Natasha stepped in front of him as he tried to leave, and when she reached out to touch his arm, he didn’t pull away. However, he did tense, and Natasha immediately dropped her hand, getting the hint. Still, she said, “Stay. Please.”

“I have to go,” he answered coldly, staring over her shoulder.

“Why?”

When he looked at her, it seemed as if it took every ounce of strength he had to look her in the eye. “Natasha, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t just _brush_ everything under the carpet when it comes to you, whether it’s how I feel about you or dealing with your ex. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of trying to help you. I’m tired of trying to convince you that you don’t have to deal with things your own way.”

She reached up to cup his face, but he moved his head out of the way. “Steve…”

“Nat, please. Just let me go,” he muttered quietly.

Natasha stood there, watching his expression. He’d stopped looking at her again, his eyes fixed on the door right behind her head. The line of his shoulders was rigid and his chest was still, as if he wasn’t breathing. She knew that trying to touch him again would get her nowhere, would only make him flinch, and that wouldn’t make either of them feel any better. Instead, she waited for him to change his mind, waited for him to touch _her_ , to…to do _something_ , damn it; anything but _leave_.

Steve didn’t change his mind. He didn’t touch her. He just stood there, waiting for her to move out the way. And when she finally did, he didn’t even so much as look back, didn’t even say another word, as he opened the door and walked away.

For the second time in her life, Natasha Romanoff felt terrified.

For the _first_ time in her life, Natasha Romanoff let herself cry over a boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nat, just call the goddamn police already! THIS GUY IS A PSYCHO.
> 
> Okay, I know you're all thinking that, but I've got it covered, you'll see. For now, just settle with Steve manhandling Alexei. Or curse me for making all the shit (yes, all of it) hit the fan, because boy, _did the shit hit the fan _. It hit the proverbial propeller, but don't worry, I'm bringing it back together!__
> 
> __Just not in the next chapter. Until next time!_ _


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait, but I had so much fucking trouble with this chapter. Jesus Christ. Furthermore, I'm expecting to have the next chapter done at a way faster rate, and it's one that I've been looking forward to writing for a while now, so I hope that one makes up for the tardiness of this.

By the time Maria came home, Natasha had already retreated into her bedroom. She wasn’t sleeping, not by a long shot, though her eyes were heavy enough and she felt emotionally drained enough that she wanted to slip into unconsciousness, where she could momentarily forget everything that had happened in the past hour. But she just _couldn’t_. When she shut her eyes, she saw his face. She saw her mistakes. She saw how he flinched away from her touch as she reached for him. She saw the pain in his eyes as he asked her to let him leave. She saw him walking out of her apartment— _her life?_ —and she saw how she simply let him go.

She saw how she royally, disastrously fucked things up.

Of course, she could tell herself that this was what she had wanted to avoid in the first place, because it _had_ been. She knew what falling for him entailed, she knew what _him_ falling for _her_ entailed, and that was Steve getting hurt. But that was before. Now, as she lay in her bed, she never expected that she’d end up the hurt one too. She had done such a good job in the past at closing herself off emotionally; romantically. Being in a relationship with Alexei conditioned her into that. So when Steve walked into her life, every single good and beautiful quality of him, she hadn’t been prepared for him to start chipping away at her defenses so easily and so… _welcomingly._ Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? Natasha hadn’t been prepared, but she knew what he was doing, and she didn’t stop him. In fact, she embraced it.

Look where that got her—the _both_ of them—now.

“Natasha, are you in there?” Maria knocked on the door, making Natasha wince as the sound seemingly bounced around the walls in her room and pounded against her skull. She screwed her eyes shut, the wave of nausea that had been looming in her underbelly for the past hour threatening to finally come up, and tried to steadily breathe in and out through her nose. She didn’t answer, afraid that if she opened her mouth to speak, let alone even moved, that she would be sick for real this time. “Nat?”

There was a brief pause where Natasha thought Maria might have left, but she knew better. Seconds later Maria was pushing the door open, creeping in almost silently and sitting on the edge of the bed so that Natasha’s back was to her. She briefly hesitated between touching the redhead's arm or keeping her hand in her lap, but she eventually settled for the latter as she started talking again. Natasha could hear the worry thick in her voice. 

“Natasha,” she began, “What happened?”

Natasha clenched her fingers against her mouth. That was a loaded question. That was a question that she didn’t even want to begin to answer, because she had been running over the scenario in her head for the past hour and if that didn’t help her start to compartmentalize and dissect everything in the emotionless way that she usually dealt with her problems, then certainly speaking out loud about it wouldn’t help either. It probably would only make everything worse—everything more _real_ , as if she wasn’t feeling the weight of all her words and actions bearing down on her shoulders already. It didn’t matter if she was talking to herself, or talking to her roommate. Words weren’t going to rewind time; they weren’t going to change how she just lost one of the most important people in her life, even though they certainly helped drive him away.

Words weren’t going to make her feel any better. Words wouldn’t bring him back.

“Nat, I really need you to talk to me,” Maria was using her authoritative voice now, the one she used when she was worried. Being bossy calmed her nerves, Natasha supposed. “Did something happen to you? Did he—?”

Maria stopped herself, but Natasha already knew what she was going to ask. _Did Alexei hurt you? Did he break into the apartment? Did he rape you? Hit you?_ Instead of finishing that thought, however, Maria surprised Natasha by reaching over and cupping her hand. Natasha’s fingers twitched underneath the brunette’s palm, but she couldn’t find the strength to pull away. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to, anyway. Maria squeezed gently, the soft smile on her face betraying her firm tone.

Natasha was going to answer. She _was_. She was going to put Maria at ease; tell her she was fine, that she just needed some time alone. She owed her that much. But then Maria started speaking again, and the words that followed made Natasha’s stomach painfully clench.

“Are you okay?”

It was the last straw, that question. In a flurry, Natasha lunged forward, barely managing to drag the garbage in front of her face, and heaved a pungent stream of bile into the container. Tears stung at her eyes, but she knew it wasn’t from throwing up. The raw emotion swelled up in her chest and now her entire torso was aching, what with her abdomen clenching with her heaves and her ribs feeling like they were going to cave in under the weight of all her feelings. She faintly felt Maria reach up to brush her curls out of the way, her other hand coming to settle on Natasha’s back, where she rubbed small circles. Natasha knew it was meant to soothe her, but she barely registered the action. All she felt was pain, and she had nobody else to blame for it but herself. She couldn’t blame Steve. She couldn’t even blame Alexei, though god knew she wanted to. This was all her fault. She’d gotten so used to disregarding everything that she didn’t want to affect her that she never stopped to think how that habit alone _could_. Not putting an end to Alexei’s bullshit for good, not owning up to how she felt about Steve; hell, even all the way to her _dancing_ —she shoved it all down to a place inside of her that she could blissfully ignore, but now it was all coming out, and she couldn’t stop it. Just like the bile,  _she couldn't stop it._

It seemed like forever until she stopped throwing up, and when she did, she simply wiped her mouth on a tissue Maria had retrieved from her and laid back down again. Eventually, Maria stopped asking questions. She simply settled down besides Natasha, hands clasped over her midsection as she glanced every now and then in the redhead’s direction to gauge if she was going to get sick again. She never did. And even though Natasha was grateful for Maria, thankful that she was there for her, that did nothing to relieve the ache in her chest throbbing in sync with her heartbeat. When Maria fell asleep, her breathing grew quieter and made the throbbing only seem louder. It was a heavy, harsh _thump, thump, thump_ that jarred Natasha from head-to-toe, a message thrumming throughout her entire body that only she could hear; that only she could understand.

_It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault._

* * *

The next day, Natasha got out of bed and walked into the kitchen as if nothing had ever happened. She was numb; her sleep dreamless. She felt empty of all the pain, anger and sadness from the night before, but also most of the opposite emotions, as well. She was…she was almost like she was before she met Steve, just hardened. She could put on the façade that she was okay; she could laugh with Pepper, she could pick on Stark, she could study with Banner. She could make Thor smile and she could chat with Jane. She could deflect Maria’s questions or she could reply with something that would satisfy her for the time being. She could convince them all that she was fine. She could make them believe her lies.

She should have known that she wouldn’t be able to fool Clint as easily.

Not even a whole week had gone by when he burst into her bedroom, actually managing to startle Natasha into scrawling a thick black-inked line across the page of her notebook that she had been doing her homework on. Before she could yell at him for barging in, however, Clint had already started talking, though his usual joking demeanor was completely overridden by a serious, almost agitated mood.

“What the hell is up with you?” he accused, standing at the foot of her bed with his arms folded over his chest and a scowl on his face.

Natasha immediately frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Cut the bullshit,” Clint narrowed his eyes, shaking his head incredulously. “Something happened between you and Steve. He hasn’t been acting right and neither have you.”

“I didn’t realize you were our keepers, Barton,” she retorted, barely managing to keep her voice indifferent.

“Nat, stop,” he warned, lowering his voice to indicate his seriousness, as if she couldn’t detect it well enough on her own. “Maria called me the other day. She told me how she found you in here; said that something was wrong, that you got sick. And then, suddenly, the next day you’re completely fine? I know what you’re doing, and it’s not fooling me.”

“Oh? And what exactly am I doing?”

“You’re shoving everything down! You’re ignoring all of your problems because you can’t be bothered to deal with them,” Clint yelled, “When Maria called, she said something had happened and that you wouldn’t talk to her about it.” He paused, clenching his jaw but obviously trying to keep his calm as he added, “And she told me about that son of a bitch breaking in and defacing your apartment before the break.”

Natasha’s eyebrows twitched together. “Clint, I—”

“Look, I’m not mad about that. Well, I am, but not because you didn’t tell me. I don’t know what I would have done to him if you did, but it wouldn't have been something pretty.” Clint watched as she lowered her eyes. “Maria thinks whatever happened the night she found you has something to do with Alexei. But when Steve came back to the apartment, he wouldn’t talk to me either. In fact, I’ve barely spoken to him all week. I’ve barely _seen_ him all week. I’m worried about you two, and the fact that you guys won’t talk to anyone about what’s going on isn’t helping.”

Natasha was still looking away from him, her eyes fixed on an invisible stain on her bed’s comforter. There was no point in lying to Clint, not when he was the only person in the world that would ever be able to see through her mask. Not when he was the only person brave enough to call her out on her shit. 

_The only person other than Steve._

“I’m here for you, Nat,” Clint continued, “Maria is here for you—we are _all_ here for you. You don’t have to face everything on your own, and you don’t have to do everything on your own.”

She scoffed bitterly. “That’s what Steve said to me the other night.”

“Well, he isn’t wrong,” he replied. “Now can you tell me what the hell happened between you two?”

“We got into a fight,” Natasha answered, frowning. “It was after you and I left the café. I was going to tell Steve how I felt about him, only everything blew up in my fucking face.” Her scowl had deepened, though it was directed at a spot on the ground beside Clint’s feet. “I…I said things that I didn’t mean. I felt trapped. I hurt him. And then Alexei came and didn’t make things any better.”

A wave of anger rushed over Clint’s face. “That asshole _came_ here? Did he do anything? Are you o—?”

Natasha lifted a hand to silence him. “Please,” she started, barely managing to keep her voice level. “Please don’t ask me that.” Clint quieted and nodded, allowing her to continue after she sucked in a deep breath. “Alexei was drunk and coming down from a high. Steve told me to call the cops and I didn’t. I was convinced it wasn’t going to help anything. The charges _never_ stick. That bastard always gets off with just a fucking slap on the wrist.”

“Tasha…”

“It wouldn’t have helped anything, Clint!” Natasha cut him off, already knowing what he was going to say. “He’d have just come back again, only angrier. He—”

She stopped talking as Clint finally moved to sit down next to her, gently reaching for her left hand and raising it in the air between them. “You’re right, Nat,” he began, “But Alexei already put his hands on you once. You don’t remember those bruises he gave you the night you came to my apartment? Sure, the charges might not have stuck, but you don’t know that for sure. You can’t just gamble with how this guy will act in the future!”

Natasha yanked her hand away. “What happens when I put him in jail and he gets released days later, hellbent on making me suffer? What happens when he does more than just break into my apartment and vandalize my stuff?”

“I don't know, but that doesn’t mean giving him free reign is any better,” Clint argued, standing up again. “He’s unpredictable. And I understand that you don’t want to take the chance of adding fuel to his flame by trying to get him jailed, but _god_ , Natasha, you can’t just assume that everything in the world is going to work against you!”

Natasha quieted at that, glancing away as tears that she refused to let go stung at her eyes. Clint lowered his voice, but the firmness was still there in his tone. “Listen, I know whatever you and Steve are fighting about goes beyond you snapping at him, and I know it goes beyond you having a crazy ex. But I have a giant feeling that it largely has something to do with you ignoring all of your problems and living in denial.” As Natasha flinched, Clint set his lips in a grim line. “Nat, I know you like the back of my hand, and I know that you like to block everything out so that you don’t have to deal with it. But it’s not healthy—and, to be quite honest, it’s not fucking necessary, because you have all of us here with you. _Us_. Your friends. Me, Maria, Pepper, Stark—the whole gang. Even Steve, I know that for a fact. He still cares about you, Nat. We all do. We just can’t watch you hurt yourself like this by acting like everything is okay.”

When she didn’t say anything in response, Clint sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He opened his mouth to continue, but Natasha wasn’t even looking at him, her brow furrowed and her lips trembling with the struggle not to cry. It hurt him to see her that way, to see her so… _unlike_ herself, but talking wouldn’t get him anywhere if she wasn’t going to listen. Talking, if anything, would only make things worse.

So, he left. And when he did, Natasha still refused to cry.

* * *

A few more days passed and Clint never came by again. Maria had also been scarce around the apartment, instead spending her time at Sam’s place, Natasha supposed. Pepper called once, leaving a message under the pretense that she was just checking in, but Natasha could tell that it was taking an awful lot out of her friend not to go on an emotional rant in a similar, if not less harsh, fashion that Clint had.  Still, Natasha didn’t call her back, and she didn’t make any effort to reach out to any of the others either. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to take another lecture. For now, she just wanted to be alone. 

So when there was a knock on her apartment’s door almost another week after Clint’s little visit, Natasha seriously debated ignoring it. It wasn’t until the slight possibility that it could have been Steve knocking came to light that Natasha got up from where she had been curled up on the couch, walked over to the door, and opened it without looking through the peephole.

She immediately regretted not taking the precaution, because as soon as she got a look at the woman waiting on the other side of the door, Natasha felt a wave of anger rush through her body. She gripped the edge of the door so hard that her knuckles turned colorless, and it took every ounce of willpower in her body not to lunge out at the woman standing in front of her, wearing large, dark-lensed sunglasses and those ridiculous, midriff cutoff shirts that she always wore, even now, despite the fact that it was fucking _winter_ , and—

“Natasha,” she began, not daring to move an inch as the redhead nearly shook with anger in front of her. “Natasha, look—”

She didn’t get a chance to continue as Natasha abruptly slammed the door in her face.

Natasha stepped away from the door, hands balled into fists at her sides as the other woman apparently refused to leave. “Natasha, please, I need your help,” she continued, “Please, just let me in.”

_Why the fuck is she here?_

“Go the hell away,” Natasha retorted through the closed door. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve coming here."

“Just hear me out,” her voice had took on a tone that, if Natasha’s ears were working correctly, almost sounded like she was begging. “I-I need your help. I don’t know what to do.”

She hesitated for a moment as the pleading in the other woman’s voice became evident. Normally, Natasha wouldn’t have thought twice about just heading back into her bedroom and waiting until the other woman left. Normally, Natasha wouldn't have hesitated to block the sounds of her desperate voice out.  _Normally_ , Natasha wouldn’t have opened the door again to "hear out" one of the last people she currently wanted to see.

But she did. And when she opened the door, Natasha bit out through clenched teeth, “What the fuck are you doing here, Yelena?”

The blonde didn’t flinch at Natasha’s words, only straightened her posture as Natasha glared at her, impatiently waiting for her answer. “I didn’t know who else to go to. I need help.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Natasha irritably snapped back. “Why are you _here_?”

Yelena quieted for a moment, and even though Natasha couldn’t see her eyes through the lenses of her sunglasses, she knew that the blonde was looking down at her fidgeting fingers. After a short while, Yelena let out a breath and lifted her head again, raising a hand and slipping the glasses off of her nose.

Natasha fought not to suck in a sharp breath at what she saw next.

The first thing her gaze went to was the dark, purple and blue discoloring circling Yelena’s left eye, the skin there barely puckered in the last stages of swelling. There was a small cut over her right cheekbone, which was also framed by bruising, albeit less severely, and now that Natasha was _really_ looking, she could see the faint, if not distinct, traces of a thumbprint underneath Yelena’s clavicle. To top it all off, there were red knuckle-shaped marks on the blonde’s jaw and the middle of her bottom lip was slightly crusted with blood, where it had obviously been split and halfheartedly cleaned. Natasha’s hand tightened on the door again at the sight, but for a whole different reason than before—she knew who gave Yelena the cuts and bruises, and the redhead's wrist ached faintly at the memory.

Natasha clenched her jaw again before stepping aside. “Come in.”

Yelena quickly obliged, standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room as Natasha closed and locked the door behind her. When she turned around, Yelena was fidgeting with her sunglasses, seemingly struggling between slipping them back on to hide her wounds or just putting them away.

Natasha sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Why was she doing this? For _Yelena_ , out of all people?

“Is this…your boyfriend?” Yelena asked, breaking the awkward silence and gesturing at a black-framed photograph sitting on the end table besides the couch. She was clearly putting off the topic at hand, and Natasha’s eyes immediately darted to the picture—it was the one that Steve had drawn and given her for Christmas. She flexed her jaw and swiftly crossed over to the table, flipping the photo face down and ignoring Yelena’s question.

“Tell me what happened,” Natasha said, her tone almost flat.

The blonde briefly closed her eyes and let out a breath. “I hadn’t seen Alexei for a few days. He came home this afternoon, drunk and high on…almost everything,” Yelena began, teeth bared. “He was muttering nonsense. He said your name a few times, but I couldn’t make any sense of it. After a while, I told him to leave. I’ve been trying to get better, trying to distance myself from him. But…” Yelena’s fingers curled around the too-long sleeves of her jacket, which were probably covering more bruises. “But he only got angrier, more hysterical. Then he hit me. I only managed to get away after he tripped on his own feet and fell over, but I didn’t know where else to go…what else to do…”

Before she even knew it, Natasha had the question poised on the tip of the tongue— _why didn’t you call the police?_ It was so easy to ask it, it was so easy to see the logic behind it. And there _was_ logic behind it. Clint had been right. Natasha couldn’t just assume that everything wouldn’t work in her favor; she couldn’t wait until _she_ was the one in Yelena’s place, face bruised and battered. And, what was worse was that if Natasha would have just listened to Steve that night and called the cops, then Yelena probably _wouldn’t_ be bruised and battered, standing in front of her now. This, in part, was Natasha's fault. She was as much to blame as Alexei. If she would have just listened, if she hadn't been so fucking  _stubborn_...

Natasha wasn't going to make the mistake again.

“Yelena, we need to go to the police.”

The hesitation instantly crossed the blonde’s features. “I don’t…”

“ _Trust me_ ,” Natasha said, “Don’t make the same mistake as me. Don’t let him get away with hurting you. We have to…take responsibility. We have to stop being afraid.”

_We need to stop brushing everything under the rug._

Yelena didn’t answer, tongue instead darting across her split lip and moistening the blood there again. The action, if anything, only reinforced Natasha’s words, and she stepped forward so that the blonde was forced to look her in the eye. “You came for me to help and I’m offering it. The police will handle Alexei. He’s gone too far,” she gestured at the discoloring on Yelena’s face. “And he’ll only do it again.”

The other woman looked down at her fingers again, teeth working her lip anxiously. When she spoke next, her voice was much quieter. “I’m sorry, Natasha,” she murmured, “For everything.”

“I know. You wouldn’t have come to me if you weren’t,” Natasha answered, before nudging her head towards the door. “Now, come on. Let’s go to the police station and have this settled once and for all.”

* * *

Natasha had been inside a police station only one other time in her life.

It was right after the house fire that took her parents, and she was almost too young to remember the hustle and bustle that was common to almost every police station, Russian or otherwise, but not quite. Now, as she sat in the lobby of the police station right down the street from her college, with the hovering officers and loud conversations and stench of stale coffee practically engulfing her, she felt just like the little girl she had been in the run-down station in Stalingrad. Only now she was streaked with snow rather than soot, and the one that was being hounded with questions by the cops was Yelena, and not her.

As soon as the two women arrived at the station, Yelena was immediately seen by two beat cops due to the heavy bruising to her face. Natasha was briefly questioned and she easily gave her own accounts with Alexei, accepting the cops’ poorly hidden judgment at the fact that she had failed to go to the authorities when Alexei harassed her in the past. There was no point in being offended, or even angry, because they were right. The cops, Steve, Clint; they were _all_ right. And now, she was finally taking their advice. She was finally dealing with Alexei.

Yelena was still being questioned by the time Alexei was hauled inside the station, his hands secured tightly behind his back with a pair of shiny cuffs, flanked on either side by two uniformed officers, their hands wrapped tightly around his biceps. As they dragged Alexei past her, his dark eyes immediately found her green ones, and they narrowed into slits.

“You bitch,” he growled, “Can I expect to find your frat boy here, too?”

Natasha didn’t react to his words and instead watched with her chin raised slightly upwards as the cops holding him yanked him harshly forward, causing his head to snap straight in a way that almost looked painful, but Natasha didn’t feel the least bit bad. Alexei’s eyes went to Yelena next, who looked apprehensive despite the fact that she practically had a small sea of officers standing between her and Alexei, who was still nonetheless handcuffed. He yelled something in Russian in her direction, but he was clearly still out of it from whatever drugs he had been on when he attacked Yelena earlier that day, and the realization only made Natasha feel better about the fact that this was it. Alexei was only digging himself a deeper hole, and there was no way he was getting out of it now. Not this time.

Natasha felt _free_.

It felt like hours had passed before Yelena was finally released from questioning. Natasha stood up as the blonde approached, walking side-by-side with her out of the station and into the brisk temperature outside. Yelena looked calmer now, despite the bruises still tainting what Natasha remembered was a pretty face. It was almost… _relieving_ , having forgiven Yelena for what she had done; like a weight had been lifted off of Natasha’s shoulders. And it was shocking how easily Natasha had forgiven her; over the years, Yelena had changed from the vibrant, sweet girl that Natasha had met in grade school. She went through drugs, alcohol; _sex with her best friend’s boyfriend_. But now, as the two of them stood in the snow, Natasha could see the girl that she had been. She could see the Yelena Belova that she truly was. The one that had been her friend.

_Free._

“The detective said that Alexei had two ounces of heroin on him when they arrested him,” Yelena started. “That, coupled with the domestic violence charges, he’s going away for a long time.”

“He deserves it.”

Yelena nodded before settling her eyes on Natasha’s profile. “I wanted to apologize again. I wasn’t…I wasn’t a great friend. You didn’t have to help me tonight, but you did, despite everything.”

“What matters now is that you’re better. You said you were trying to get clean, right?” Yelena nodded again. “Then just keep doing that. It’s a sufficient enough apology.”

“Thank you, Tasha,” Yelena said quietly.

Natasha smiled. “You’re welcome, < _little one_ >.”

Yelena laughed lightly at that. “I haven’t heard that nickname in a long time.”

“You used to hate it.”

“I don’t anymore,” Yelena replied. She sighed, looking back out at the street as cars drove by. “It’s a reminder of a better time. But I suppose now can be better too, with Alexei gone for good.”

Natasha hummed in agreement. “What are you going to do now?”

The blonde shrugged. “As a recuperating drug addict that barely graduated high school, there aren’t a lot of options out there for me to choose from.”

“You can always try your hand at school,” Natasha offered. “You were always smart, Yelena, despite it all. It’s not too late for college.”

“I’ll consider it,” Yelena replied, smile hopeful. “What about you?”

Natasha shrugged. “Finish _my_ degree, I guess.”

“With that boyfriend of yours?” Yelena raised an eyebrow and poorly hid a smirk.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Natasha said quietly, eyes turning toward the concrete beneath their feet. She hadn’t thought about Steve in the few hours that she had been out of her apartment, what with her distraction with Yelena and Alexei and all. But now that Yelena had brought it up, the reminder that things between Natasha and Steve were still screwed up didn’t do much to keep her mood lightened.

Yelena made an intrigued sound. “That picture could have fooled me,” she said, shrugging. “So you two are close, then?”

“We were.”

“What happened?”

Natasha looked back towards the police station behind them. “I happened; Alexei happened…it’s a long story.”

Yelena sighed. “It’s a story we both know well,” she said, watching the other woman out of the corner of her eye. “But yours can end better than mine.”

“I don’t…”

“Trust me,” Yelena cut her off, echoing Natasha’s earlier words. “You obviously care about him, and you still have your chance at a happy ending. You should take it before it’s too late.” She smiled warmly as Natasha hesitated to respond. “Your slate’s already halfway clean. Why not go the rest of the way?”

“You should take your own advice,” Natasha replied lightly, a faint smile flickering across her lips.

“I will if you do,” Yelena answered, bumping her arm with the redhead’s. She turned as the same detective that had been questioning her appeared at the station’s doorway, requesting that she come back to sign some papers. She turned back to Natasha with a farewell smile. “Go back to the campus. I’ll catch a cab home. I have a feeling I’ll be here for a while.”

Natasha looked uncertainly between Yelena and the detective. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” the blonde replied, stepping away. As she walked back to the station, she called over her shoulder, “And again, thank you. Just…think about what I said, okay? Clean slate.”

Natasha wore a small smile. “I will if you do.”

Yelena disappeared behind the station’s doors, and Natasha started back towards the campus. It was a short walk, but it gave her enough time to reflect on everything that had happened in the past few hours. It gave her enough time to think about Alexei and how he was going away for a long time. It gave her enough time to do just like Yelena said; to _think_ about what she said. It gave her enough time to realize what it _really_ was that Natasha wanted to do now that she was free.

She wanted to make things right.

She wanted _Steve._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you were wondering, this is how I picture Alexei and Yelena to look like in my story:
> 
> [Alexei](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/35500000/Danila-Kozlovsky-the-vampire-academy-blood-sisters-35534259-500-699.png) (Danila Kozlovsky; he's cute but could probably also look like a crazy crackhead if he tried. Plus he's Russian, so there's that.)
> 
> [Yelena](http://images.starpulse.com/pictures/2013/08/28/previews/Anya%20Monzikova-GFR-023054.jpg) (Anya Monzikova; she's also Russian—and yes, I know Yelena is actually Ukranian, but hey—and she actually looks like how Yelena is drawn in some cases in the comics. Fun Fact: Anya was also in Iron Man 2, though as one of those stupid girls throwing shit around at Tony's birthday party. They weren't helping anything, honestly.)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much, _much_ faster update than the last, like I promised. Also, you may or may not have noticed, but I've bumped up the rating for this fic...
> 
> Enjoy, friends!
> 
> P.S.: I was listening to Body Electric by Lana Del Rey while writing this chapter, and I think it adds a little more...something. Just saying. Very sensual. O-ooh-kay, carry on folks ;)

_Déjà vu._

Natasha swore into her scarf as another sharp gust of wind picked up, sending her short curls flying around her face and prickling almost painfully against her cheeks. Still, she trudged forward, navigating the ever so familiar trail jutting through the campus, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket and her face half-tucked into the collar. Even with the sudden braveness she felt at what she was on her way to do, Natasha couldn’t shrug off the harsh winter temperatures, but the cold only made her more determined to get to her destination faster.

As she walked the trail, she was brought back to the night of her last fight with Alexei. She went to Stark Hall in order to seek Clint, to seek his comfort, but instead she found someone else. Someone that was, in some ways, better. _Steve_. Back then, she didn’t know how effortlessly they would connect. Back then, she didn’t know how much he would ever come to mean to her. Back then, she didn’t know how much she would actually _need_ him in her life.

Back then, she didn’t know how easily she would fall in love with him.

But she knew now. It happened so fast, the realization that she was in _love_ with Steve Rogers. But it did, it hit her like frostbite in this incessant winter—hard, fast, in her bones. But unlike frostbite, it wasn’t unwelcome. She was embracing it now. She was embracing _him_ now. She just hoped it wasn’t too late; that Yelena’s words had been right. Natasha could still have her chance at a happy ending— _her clean slate_ —and she wanted all of that with Steve.

As she pushed forward, the familiar, and maybe even comforting, sight of the flickering light above Stark Hall’s back entrance came to view, and Natasha steeled herself as she crossed the last few feet between her and the door. Her teeth were clattering loudly as she ducked inside, and she wasn’t sure if it was mostly because of the cold or the sudden bout of nervousness that rushed through her body as she shut the door behind her. Even so, she clamped her jaw shut and moved silently through the lobby, footsteps like a cat’s as she passed the elevator and started up the stairs. She knew she was being just as soundless as she always was, but the nervousness manifesting in her chest told her otherwise—she was pretty sure her heartbeat was echoing not only in her skull but also in the corridor around her, and her breathing felt as if it was coming in hot and heavy, not steady and calm.

_Loud._

_Am I in over my head? What if Steve still doesn’t want to talk to me? What if he turns me away? What if Yelena was wrong? What if—?_

Natasha didn’t get a chance to answer any of her own questions, because she already found herself standing outside of Clint and Steve’s apartment door, her hand trembling as she hesitated between pulling her spare key from where it hung between her breasts or just turning back around. _Was_ she in over her head? There were a lot of what ifs, and all of them flashed through her mind with every loud thump of her pulse. The biggest what if of all was the one that also scared her the most, the one that loomed over her like a giant, nasty spider. The one that felt like this had suddenly all just turned into a bad dream.

_What if he doesn’t love me back?_

Then, another voice: _Natasha, you can’t just assume everything in the world is going to work against you!_

She heard it now, Clint’s voice. Clint’s _words_. But this time they weren’t laced with any harshness or firmness. They were gentle, reassuring, _encouraging._ It tampered the nervousness and crushed the nasty spider hovering over her until it was no more. It made her let out a deep breath to calm her nerves. It made her realize that maybe words could help, could  _change,_ things after all.

With that, Natasha silently unlocked the door and slipped inside. All was quiet, save for the sounds of Clint’s snores coming from his bedroom. Natasha decided that she’d talk to him later—he deserved an apology from her just as much as his roommate. Until then, Natasha turned to Steve’s room. She couldn’t hear anything coming from his bedroom, and briefly wondered if he was even there. Clint had told her earlier that he had hardly seen Steve all week, so maybe…Natasha shook her head. _Don’t back out now. You’ve come this far. You can’t assume everything will work against you._

_You can’t assume he’s gone._

She pushed open Steve’s door with a quiet _click_. Sure enough, he was there, lying on his back with one arm draped over his eyes and the other at his side. He had, apparently, been sleeping, but as soon as Natasha padded further into the bedroom, Steve woke with a jolt. It was almost like the first time she did this, the first time she met him, but instead of letting him stand and stare at her from across the room, Natasha crossed the space and steadied him with a hand to his chest. Steve stiffened beneath her palm and she realized that maybe touching him hadn’t been such a great idea, but right when she was about to pull away, he let out an almost relieved-sounding sigh and sat back down, staring up at her with confused, deep blue eyes.

“Nat? What are you—?”

“I’m so sorry,” she cut him off, the words almost inaudible with her exhalation. “I’m sorry, Steve. For everything.” Her voice cracked at the end and she turned her head away, bottom lip trembling with the effort not to cry. Why was she so reluctant to let him see her cry now? This was Steve. He—

He wouldn’t judge her _._ “Hey,” Steve started, reaching up for her hand. She went without any protest as he gently pulled her down until she was sitting on the edge of the bed in front of him. “Natasha, hey…”

“You were right, and I’m sorry,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I pushed everything down to a place that I could ignore. I pushed you away. I pushed everyone away.” Natasha sniffed and swallowed, trying to cinch off the stream of tears as Steve placed a warm hand over her own. She turned to look at him, cheeks wet. “But I’m done doing that. I’m done not taking responsibility. Tonight, I…I did what I should have done months ago. I went to the police. Alexei’s going away for a long time. He…he hurt a friend of mine. And I know that if I would have just listened to you the other night when he came, then he wouldn’t have attacked her, but—”

“ _Natasha_ ,” Steve breathed, calling her attention. She stopped talking, suddenly realizing that she had been speaking fast, and blinked once, her eyelashes still wet with tears. “Jesus, Nat, stop apologizing.”

Natasha frowned at his words and leaned away, but when she made a move to stand, Steve widened his eyes and blurted, “Wait, no. I didn’t mean to sound…that’s not what…” he paused, the words jumbled up in his throat. He let out a deep sigh in order to calm himself down, and when he was, he lifted a hand to cup her jaw. When he met her gaze, his eyes were big, warm, _blue_. “God, I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“But…”

“No buts,” he gently interjected. “I forgive you.”

She bit her lip. “Steve,” His face was close to hers now, his palms still caressing her hand and jaw. Natasha could feel his breath tickling her lips, could feel his thumb drying the last of her tears on her cheek. She could feel all of his body heat engulfing her, fighting off the last of the cold that was still clinging to her from outside. She was practically melting into his touch. “I’m…”

“I said, stop apologizing,” he whispered, a small smile on his mouth.

“We’re…we’re okay?”

Steve nodded. “We’re okay,” he assured. “And that’s the truth this time.”

“I’m glad,” she smiled, breathing out a relieved laugh.

“Me too.”

She was ready for it, _expecting_ it, but that still didn’t stop Natasha from quietly inhaling in surprise as Steve leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a warm, sweet kiss. Soon, however, the chasteness was overridden with passion and longing. _Desire_. Steve wrapped his arm around Natasha’s waist and moved the hand that was on her jaw so that it was now tangled in the hairs at the nape of her neck, pulling her closer to him until all she could make sense of was him, and him only _._ No matter if it was scent, sight, touch, taste or hearing, it was all _Steve_. He was everywhere, his hands holding her and his lips kissing her, and she still couldn’t get enough. 

Natasha let out a small moan as Steve’s tongue slid past her parted lips, moving further into his lap until she was straddling him with her thighs, her hands framing his face. He didn’t even seem to notice that she had moved, kissing her as fiercely and intensely as he was. Their kisses were tinged with just a hint of desperation, but neither of them cared, exchanging soft gasps and low moans and letting their hands roam freely across either of their bodies. By the time they parted for air, panting deeply and tingling with pleasure, Natasha’s hands were pressed firmly against Steve’s chest while he had his resting on her hips, fingertips pushed underneath the hem of her shirt and jacket so that he was touching bare skin. Natasha reluctantly removed her hands to strip out of her jacket, though he made up for the loss of contact by ducking his head down and planting kisses along her collarbone. Her eyelids fluttered shut with the action, lips parting as her breathing grew even heavier, and she blindly tossed her jacket across the room before pushing Steve back and shoving his shirt up his body with wanton impatience. 

He swiftly obliged, staring up at her with dilated eyes as he lifted his arms, seemingly oblivious to his own movements, so that Natasha could yank his t-shirt up and over his head. She discarded it in the similar fashion she had her jacket, though when she bent back down to kiss him again, it was slower; softer. A shiver went down his spine as she gently raked her fingernails down his abdomen, and he slid his hands under her shirt and up her bare stomach in return. She briefly broke off their kiss again to tug her own shirt off, Steve’s hands going further upwards until the curves between his thumbs and forefingers were framing either of her breasts. She groaned impatiently as he brushed his thumbs along the hem and over the cups of her bra, and it wasn’t until Natasha leaned back to finally unclasp it that Steve sucked in a sharp, almost strangled-sounding breath, causing her to pause her movements and frown down at him.

“What? What's wrong?”

Steve shook his head, gently smoothing one hand up so that it was caressing her jaw again and sliding the other one back until his fingers were pressed firmly against the bra clasp resting over her spine. Natasha was still frowning down at him, confused, though it had softened in the slightest at Steve’s touch. He leaned forward so that their torsos were pressed together, head angled upwards and chin balanced softly on the space between her breasts so that he could look her in the eye.

“You’re beautiful,” he finally breathed, voice tinged with pure desire. Awe. _Love?_ "Absolutely beautiful."

Natasha smiled gently, moving her own palm up his body until it rested over the comforting beat of his heart. “You’re beautiful, too.”

“Come here,” Steve whispered. She obliged, hair falling around her face as she bent forward and slanted her lips over his again. His fingers made expert work behind her back, but there was something in his touch that screamed reverence, even as he pulled the straps from her shoulders and cupped her breasts in his palms. She gasped at the friction, her nipples immediately tightening against his skin, and he pulled his lips away from hers in favor of kissing a line down her chest. His thumbs and breath ghosted over her nipples, mouth hot and wet against her skin, and she let out a strangled whimper once he finally crowned his swollen lips around one of the taut, sensitive buds. Her fingers curled into his shoulders and he moaned at the feeling of her fingernails digging into his flesh, the vibration going straight to her core. Steve moved to pay her other nipple the same attention and Natasha slid her hands into the short blond strands on his head, pushing them in odd directions. It wasn’t until she fisted her hands in his hair and pulled his head away, nipples too sensitive and overstimulated, that Steve rolled them over so that Natasha was now lying beneath him, grinning droopily with pleasure. 

“Is this okay?” Steve asked, looking up at her with sincere eyes as he kissed a slow trail down her stomach and past her navel. He paused at the hem of her jeans, waiting for her answer, and she had to catch her breath in order to form the words.

Even then, though, all she managed was a breathless, “Yeah.”

Steve nodded, smiling against her skin as he undid the button to her jeans and slowly dragged them down her legs. He made even slower work as he pulled them from her ankles, sliding his thumbs against the sides of her feet after he finally tugged the jeans off and threw them to the side. Natasha almost whined as he kissed both of her knees, moving upwards at a tantalizing pace that had her chewing her lip in impatience. She didn’t want to rush him, though. Even as she longed for him, _needed him_ , his soft kisses were still appreciated, especially as they got closer and closer to the center of her arousal. Steve stopped to stare at her underwear, simple and cotton, and for a brief second Natasha allowed herself to feel shy. They certainly weren’t her best, but she wasn’t exactly expecting this to happen. She was just about to explain that to Steve; however, he instead surprised her as he leaned forward and pressed a hot, single kiss to the cotton covering her neatly trimmed curls and whispered, “So beautiful.”

Natasha didn’t get a chance to reply as Steve reverently pulled her underwear off of her legs, the cool air and the feel of his breath against her core sending a shiver up her spine. He kissed her thighs as he parted her legs and hiked them over his shoulders, and when he finally settled between them, his mouth just inches away from finally touching her where she wanted, _needed_ , Natasha felt like she was going to crumble with the wait.

Steve must have seen it in her eyes, because not another second was wasted as he parted her folds with his fingers and teased her with the tip of his tongue. She writhed at the touch, but Steve quickly moved his hands up and held her waist in place. He was building her up, as if she wasn’t already at the peak of her patience, and she needed _more_. Angling her hips as best as she could, Natasha let out a shaky moan as Steve traced his way up to her clit and firmly sucked once, making her arch her back off of the mattress and scramble for something to cling on to. Keeping one arm braced over her hips, Steve used his free hand to find one of her own, entwining their fingers as she fisted her other hand in the sheets. She was gasping, trying desperately not to be loud as Steve alternated between sucking her clit and teasing her entrance, and she was _close_.

But it wasn’t enough. She _needed_ him, and she let him know it by the way she clenched her thighs around his head and dug her fingers into the back of his hand. Steve hummed against her, pushing her closer, and it wasn’t until he let go of her waist and sunk a single finger into her that she was wholly pushed over the edge, mouth open in a mostly soundless cry as her entire body shook and trembled. Steve kept his mouth pressed against her as she rode out her orgasm, until she squirmed away from the overwhelming pleasure in order to catch her breath.

Steve wiped his mouth on the sheets before climbing back up the bed, settling down beside her and pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder as she fought for air. “Everything all right?” He chuckled quietly.

“I…need a…minute…” she panted in response.

“Take all the time you need,” Steve replied, running a finger gently down her jaw. His voice lowered an octave. “You’re even beautiful when you’re struggling to breathe.”

Natasha smirked and found the strength to turn her head to look at him. “How romantic,” she deadpanned.

“I’m just in awe,” he smiled.

She leaned forward, breathing steadier now, and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. “You’re too good to be true,” she whispered.

“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.”

Natasha kissed him again, this time deeper. They stayed like that, allowing her body to get worked up again, and when it did, she wrapped her arms around Steve’s neck and pulled him on top of her so that he was positioned between her bare legs. Steve groaned as she angled her hips up against his clothed erection, and she raked her nails down his back until she was pushing them beneath the waistband of both his flannels and boxers, fingers digging into the flesh on his bottom. She shoved them down until they were pooled around his knees, his erection springing free and brushing against her lower abdomen. Steve growled and Natasha smirked against his lips, reaching around and clasping his cock in her hand. She couldn’t wait any longer. _He_ couldn’t wait any longer. She stroked once, twice, and then widened her legs even more, lining him up at her entrance so that he could finally—

Steve pulled away, pushing off of the bed and standing so that his pants and underwear fell down the rest of his legs. Natasha whimpered at the loss, but didn’t say a word as Steve stepped out of the pile of clothes at his feet and reached over for a condom. She licked her lips and watched as he rolled it on, tempted to help him, but he was already bracketing himself over her again, capturing her lips with his own in a wet, desperate kiss.

The kiss took her so off-guard that she didn’t even realize Steve’s hand sliding back between their bodies, so when the tip of him pressed experimentally against her entrance, her eyes flew open and she sucked in a sharp gasp. Steve made a move to pull away, afraid he’d hurt her, but Natasha refused to lose contact with him again and wrapped her legs around his lower back, pulling him down for another kiss until he got the message. He did, moaning into her mouth, before he finally pushed into her in full, breath catching in both of their throats as he hilted himself between her thighs.

Natasha couldn’t breathe. She knew he was big, gauged it just by seeing his erection in his pajama pants, but she could have never expected how Steve would feel inside of her. It felt wonderful. Full. Right. _Perfect._ Natasha opened her mouth to say something, anything, but she couldn’t. So, instead, she just kissed him. And when he started to slowly move in and out of her, she kissed him harder and tightened her legs around his waist, heels pressed into his bottom. He alternated between long and deep thrusts to firm rotations that ground just the right away against her clit, sending her higher and higher until she felt like she was floating. She barely registered the fact that he was touching her again, hand buried between their interconnected bodies. She barely registered the fact that she was dangerously close to her next orgasm, body thrumming with pleasure. All she could register was Steve, all around her, _in_ her, making her moan and gasp and keen until all she could do was hold on and pant his name, “Steve... _Steve_ , I'm...”

“Come, Natasha,” he panted in her ear, “Let go.”

So she did. She curled around him, limbs constricting around his body, screaming a muffled cry into his shoulder as Steve held her tight. He was trembling and breathing hard, obviously close to the edge himself, and Natasha bit her lip and clenched around him. With a low, guttural groan and one last thrust, Steve came, pressing her into the mattress, panting her name and “so beautiful” and other endearments into the crook of her neck over and over again as they both came down from their highs. Natasha stroked the back of his neck, fingers trembling and breath shaky. When Steve pulled out of her she whimpered at the loss, feeling oddly empty and suddenly cold, but it was relieved as he rolled on to his side and pulled her body close to his, again enveloping her in his warmth.

Natasha was quiet as she cuddled into him, not uttering a single word. This must have thrown Steve off, because she felt his body stiffen against hers in the slightest, and he lifted his head in an effort to look at her expression. “Are you okay?”

This time, the question didn’t make her angry. This time, it didn’t make her feel sick. No, this time, it made her feel safe. She was warm and happy, unwilling to move from Steve’s arms. She was _more_ than okay. She felt great—greater than she had been in a long time. She felt…

She felt _loved_.

“Natasha?” Steve asked, voice thick with concern, maybe even disappointment. Wordlessly, she turned in his arms so that she was facing him, fingers stroking his jaw tenderly. Steve relaxed into her touch, but he still seemed a bit apprehensive as Natasha slowly brought her eyes up to meet his own.

“Steve,” she whispered, staring into his blue orbs. “I love you.”

He paused for a moment, breath catching in his throat. Natasha’s stomach did nervous backflips. Maybe it had been too soon, but she wanted him to know. _Needed_ him to know. She loved him. She was _in_ love with him. She knew it when she came into his bedroom earlier, and she knew it even more now. But as she tasted the words on her tongue, they were tinged with the bitterness of anxiety. Steve wasn’t answering her. He was just staring, eyes wide and lips parted as he struggled for something to say, and Natasha found herself backtracking, despite the throb in her chest. “It’s okay. You don’t have to—”

Steve cut her off with his mouth, lips pressed firmly against hers. Her words turned into a surprised noise at the back of her throat, though she had no other choice but to kiss him back. It was fierce and heavy, and when he finally pulled away, they were both panting.

Still, Steve cracked a smile. It was bright and boyish, one that she would never get tired of seeing on him, and she was so enraptured by the expression on his face that she almost missed what he said next.

Almost, but didn’t.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the reunion! I'd just like to say that this is the third-to-last chapter. We're almost there, folks :( This fic has truly been great to write, but I'll save the long monologue for the last chapter. Until then, reviews are appreciated! Thanks for reading!!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty friends, here we are. The end :(
> 
> Okay, well, there's one more chapter. But essentially, this is the end. The next one will be an epilogue, and I _should_ have that posted by tomorrow, even though I so don't want this fic to end! AHHHH
> 
> (also, there were a lot of references from past chapters in this one. Well, two that I can name off the top of my head, at least. Also there's some MCU references as well, if you caught them!)

When Steve came to the next morning, Natasha was still there, curled up against his side, nose buried in his chest and hand resting on his abdomen. She had one leg tangled between both of his and her hair fell over his arm like a small, crushed silk curtain. She was beautiful, peaceful. She was...

She was _there_.

_It wasn’t all just a dream._

Steve reached up and traced a thumb along her cheekbone, relishing in the feel of her smooth, creamy skin contrasting against his own fingers, rough from being exposed to paint strippers and thinners over the years. Still, it felt nice. _Right_. Natasha was breathing steadily against his chest, her breath causing his skin to prickle and bump delightfully, and he sighed in content as she buried her face further into his skin and curled her entire arm over his waist as if she was trying to pull her closer to him. He moved his hand to her shoulder, tracing a soothing line down from there to her wrist, where he placed his palm over the back of her hand. Her fingers twitched ever so slightly at the new weight, and it wasn’t long after that he felt her lips lift into a sleepy smile against his flesh, green eyes shining upwards to look at him from under dark red lashes. Steve nearly forgot how to breathe at the sight. This woman, this wonderful, gorgeous woman was there. _With him_.

This wonderful, gorgeous woman was _in love_ with him _._ And he was in love with her.

He’d never been so happy in his life.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Natasha whispered, voice heavy with slumber. She smiled drowsily up at him, stretching languidly against his body as he ducked down and brushed their lips together, and the electric current that shot through their bodies as their mouths met was just as strong as the night before.

“Morning,” Steve hummed as they parted. He let out a disbelieving huff of breath as he leaned back and studied her face, shaking his head with a smile. “Jesus. Even with bedhead and pillow creases on your face, you’re still beautiful.”

Natasha chuckled softly. “And you’re still ever the romantic,” she drawled.

She kissed him again, slowly, tenderly, and Steve felt his body getting heated up just like the night before. Natasha must have sensed this, if the way she smiled and hummed a laugh against his lips was any indication, but she pulled away seconds later as the sounds of dishes cluttering in the kitchen sounded. Brushing her forefinger down Steve’s lips, she whispered, “I’d love to, really, but I’d rather not scar Clint.”

Steve sighed in reluctant agreement. “Yeah. I guess we should get up now, anyway?”

She nodded again, pecking him one last time on the corner of his mouth before moving away to shimmy her underwear back up her legs. Steve followed suit, albeit at a slower pace, as he was so enthralled by her utter _beauty_ as she dressed _._ Natasha was all creamy skin and scarlet locks, porcelain plains and silky strands. He got to see that skin flushed pink, a soft color on her cheeks to match the rosy pigment of her breasts and between her thighs, and he felt oddly…blessed. _Honored._ This woman, this beautiful, beautiful woman could have chosen any man to open herself up to, to _give_ herself to, but she chose him. He felt utterly flattered—especially knowing that opening herself up to anyone was very hard for Natasha to do in the first place. There were few people she did that for, and he was one of them, perhaps even the one at the top of the list. Well, besides Clint—he knew that he’d never replace what the archer meant to her, and he was fine with that. It was a privilege to be allowed into Natasha’s life, into her heart, and it was a privilege he’d never take advantage of.

Natasha smirked at him over her shoulder as she secured her bra behind her back. “See something you like, soldier?”

He echoed the smile, although a little shyly. “Something like that,” he replied, making a show of tracing an invisible line from her eyes to the dip of her lower back. She chuckled and shook her head, standing to shrug her tank top over her head and pull last night’s jeans up her legs. Steve swallowed, tearing his eyes away from her backside before he lost any of the self-restraint he had left in his body and moving to a dresser in the front of the room to get a shirt and some sweats. As he shuffled through a few drawers, he vaguely heard Natasha moving away from the edge of the bed, but it wasn’t until he heard the sounds of the spine of a book cracking that he looked up to where she was standing at his desk in the corner of the bedroom.

Natasha was standing over the leather bound drawing pad she had bought him for Christmas, her eyebrows twitched together in the slightest as her finger traced over the only drawing he had made in it. “When did you do this?” she asked softly.

Steve let out a small breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “A few days after our fight,” he answered honestly, albeit in a small, maybe even ashamed voice. “I was…I was feeling a lot of things.”

“I can tell,” she replied, though there was no sarcasm or mocking in her tone. She traced the drawing with her finger and Steve finally crossed over to her, staring down at the picture even though it had practically been seared into his brain. It was a headshot of Natasha done in watercolor, her cheeks blotchy from crying and her lips parted in a wordless whisper. That wasn’t the heaviest part of the drawing, though. Reflected in her watery green eyes was a man, a blond man with a single paint stain on the sleeve of his jacket. He was walking away from her, through a door, and she was watching him go.

It was Steve’s recollection of his fight with Natasha, but unlike that night, when he walked out her door without so much as a backwards glance, the Steve in the _drawing_ was hesitating between going and leaving. His head was angled over his shoulder, looking back at her, but his hand was poised on the doorknob, as if to go. He was…

“I was mad at myself for that night, you know,” Steve started quietly. “I hated myself for leaving you.”

Natasha shook her head, still tracing the drawing with her fingertips. “I hated myself for letting you go.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll get rid of this,” Steve reached over to tear the page out of the notebook, afraid that this one lapse would push her away again, but Natasha caught his wrist before he could. She turned to face him, never breaking her touch from his skin, and looked up at him with softened eyes.

“Don’t,” she whispered, “It’s beautiful. Raw. Like…us. This.” She gestured between the two of them with her free hand before reaching up to cup his jaw with it. “Don’t throw it away. I love it.”

“I love _you_ ,” Steve breathed, heart swelling in his chest.

Natasha smiled tenderly, matching the volume of his voice as she replied, “I love you, too.”

He leaned down for another kiss, slow but not lacking in passion in the slightest, and brought his hand up to cup the left side of her jaw, mirroring how she was caressing his right. They stood there like that for a few minutes, lips moving together in gentleness and almost innocence, until their mouths were the tiniest bit swollen and tingling with delight. Steve had half a mind to pick Natasha up right then and there and carry her back to the bed, but, as if on cue, the sound of pots and pans clanging followed by a swear resonated from the kitchen, making Natasha laugh and breaking the two lovers out of their reverie.

“We better go check on him.”

Steve nodded and reluctantly moved away from her to finish getting dressed. Once he did, he followed Natasha out into the main area of the apartment, immediately finding Clint bent over the stove, shirtless despite the fact that he was frying—and, seemingly, _burning_ —bacon in a pan that obviously wasn’t meant for it. Clint swore as a drop of grease popped in the pan and landed on his bare stomach before cracking a few eggs in a bowl and cursing again as he had to reach in and pick out more than a few shells that had landed inside. As the two of them watched the oblivious archer from behind, Natasha visibly struggled not to burst out in laughter, while Steve just buried his face in his hands and shook his head.

It wasn’t until Clint made a move to fry the eggs in the same pan he had cooked the bacon in, the grease still bubbling inside, that Natasha spoke up. “I think you should keep to archery, Clint. Cooking never really was your forte.”

Clint immediately whirled around, confusion sprawled all over his face. “Tasha? What’re you—?” He paused then, hazel eyes sweeping over Steve and Natasha, before they widened in realization. If the way that they were standing so close to one another wasn’t telling enough, the way the both of them looked positively _fucked_ did it. “You…”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, waiting for his reply.

“Finally!” Clint half-exclaimed, half-grumbled exasperatingly as he shut the stove off and motioned at them with the tongs he had been flipping the bacon with. “It’s about fucking time, honestly. Stark almost had a betting pool going on how long it was going to take for you two to stop dancing around each other, but Pepper wouldn't let him.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Of course he did.”

The archer nodded. “Anyway, I’m glad for you two, seriously. I’m happy you’ve made up. And,” his eyes softened just a bit, giving Natasha a small beam, “I’m happy you’ve come around.”

“Yeah, well, a certain idiot gave me some good advice,” Natasha smiled back, silently conveying her thanks and a mental _thank you, you idiot_ that Clint definitely received by the way he gave her almost an imperceptible nod back. As if to reinforce her thanks, she melted into Steve’s side, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, soothing his palm over her bicep.

“That certain idiot should get paid to give good advice. He’d make a fucking fortune,” Clint grinned.

“Don’t push your luck,” Natasha replied flatly, though the affection in her voice was evident.

Steve looked past Clint and at the disarray in the kitchen. “Now, can you tell me what you were trying to do here?”

Clint looked back, not even having the decency to appear ashamed at the terrible mess he had made. “Well, you weren’t up early as usual to cook anything, having apparently been otherwise _occupied_ ,” he looked pointedly between Steve and Natasha, the former blushing and the latter looking smug, “and all we had was eggs and bacon. I was hungry.”

“So was Steve,” Natasha nudged the blond with her arm and he colored a deep shade of red.

“Like I said, I’m happy for the both of you,” Clint started, grimacing, “But not so happy that I need to know all _that_ , okay?”

Natasha smirked, still looking satisfied with herself. “Too bad. I have bragging rights now.”

As Steve laughed and bent to give her a kiss, Clint groaned, “I only have myself to blame for this sickeningly sweet union.”

* * *

“Wow, Pepper. Thanks to you and your hatred of betting pools, no one gets to benefit from Steve and Natasha finally shacking up,” Tony complained from his usual seat in the library. “My bet was close, too. I could have made a fortune!”

Pepper—and Natasha, for that matter—rolled her eyes. “For one, Steve and Natasha are definitely the ones benefitting from their union,” she started, voice stern despite the fact that she was hardly paying attention to her boyfriend so much as the statistics textbook in front of her. “And for two, Tony, you already _have_ a fortune.”

The engineer opened his mouth to argue, but instead grinned and said, “Touché, Miss Potts.”

“And for the record, _I’m_ the one that would have won the bet,” Pepper added, stunning her boyfriend into silent disbelief. She looked up and smiled at Natasha and Steve, who were sitting across from her. “It took you three months, right?”

Steve shrugged. “I think it took us long enough,” he said, “But yeah, about three months.”

“That’s not fair,” Clint argued from his own seat. “You have a woman’s advantage.”

“True, but if Bruce had been participating in the bet, I’m sure he would have won,” Pepper responded.

Bruce, for once, wasn’t listening to music with his giant headphones. “Being quiet all the time gives me a lot of chances to observe.”

“Then why didn’t you contribute? Stark was literally putting down ten grand on his bet!” Clint exclaimed incredulously, earning a sharp _shh_ from the librarian that the college students promptly ignored.

As Bruce shrugged, Natasha joked, “Only ten grand? Jesus, Tony, way to be stingy.”

“I was afraid what Barton would have done with the money if he’d won,” Tony replied, “He might have gone and built himself a giant bird’s nest in the middle of the quad, for all I knew.”

Thor frowned. “I do not understand.”

“I do!” Steve raised his eyebrows and lifted a finger, smiling proudly. “I understood that reference.”

Tony looked at him flatly. “Really, Romanoff? _This_ one?” He playfully chided, and when she pointedly kissed Steve in response, he rolled his eyes and explained to their foreign friend, “It’s because Barton’s always watching people like a stalker with his hawk-like vision, Big Guy. Add that to his… _skills_ with marksmanship, the hawk reference and, therefore, the _nest_ reference, is fitting.”

Thor was still frowning. “I…”

“He’s making fun of Clint,” Jane explained, patting her boyfriend’s hand affectionately.

“Yeah, and I’m about to use my ‘marksmanship skills’ to shut him up in a minute,” Clint said, glaring at Tony, who was leaning back casually in his chair with a smug look on his face.

“I’d like to see you try, Hawkeye,” Tony mocked, apparently inventing a new nickname to taunt Clint even further.

Clint half-shouted, “what the hell did you just call me?” before lunging forward in an attempt to grab Tony by the collar, but he was stopped by one of Thor’s insanely large hands braced against his chest. Tony stuck his tongue out at him, smiling in haughty amusement, but Pepper made his self-satisfied smirk disappear once she smacked him on the side of the head with her hand. As Tony complained about his face hurting, Bruce sighed and slipped his headphones on, though he had a small smile on his face, and Jane simply shook her head before glancing apologetically at the librarian shushing the group of friends from behind her desk.

As chaos erupted around them, Steve looked at Natasha, who had gone back to reading her book with effortless concentration. He bent his head forward and brushed his lips over the curve of her ear as he whispered, “Your friends are...something else.”

“They’re your friends, too,” Natasha smiled, ignoring the shiver that went down her spine at his touch.

“Oh, I know. And I wouldn’t trade them for the world, honestly,” Steve said, before curling his arm around Natasha’s shoulders and pulling her into his side. “But I’m glad I have you here to wait out their craziness with me.”

Natasha smirked and turned her head up to meet him for a loving kiss. “Is this your way of saying you love me?”

“You already know that I do.”

“Yeah,” Natasha laughed, “Yeah, I do. It's a good feeling.” 

Steve smiled. It  _was_ a good feeling, and it was one he knew well.

_Love._


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter to those of you who celebrate!

**5 Months Later**

* * *

Natasha sat on the couch in her new living room, legs curled beneath her as she stared out of the large window overlooking the street in front of the modest townhouse. The sun was beaming bright that day, shining into the house in vibrant, choppy rectangles, and it was so cliché that she almost could have sworn she heard birds chirping as she woke up that morning. It all seemed too good to be true. So _normal_ . Natasha Romanoff didn’t _do_ normal, never did, but as she sat on her couch, enjoying the warm mug of coffee in her hand and feeling the most at peace in a _long_ while, she was starting to think that ‘normal’ was something she could get used to.

It certainly wasn’t all that bad, if she had Steve to experience it with her.

“Hey, soldier,” she greeted, still looking out the window but smirking nonetheless. Five minutes ago, when he first entered the living room and leaned against the entryway, she had immediately detected his presence but let him believe she hadn’t as he silently watched her. He tended to do that a lot, especially ever since they first moved into their new place a few days ago, but she caught him every single time, no matter how quiet he was.

Steve laughed softly at her words before joining her over on the couch, pulling her to him so that her back was curled against his side. “I’ll never be able to sneak up on you, will I?”

“Mm, no,” Natasha hummed, tilting her head back and brushing her lips against Steve’s with a small smile. “But nobody can, not even Clint. So don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“Clint’s not the one who gets to stare at you like you’re the best thing to ever happen to him every day,” Steve pointed out.

Natasha fought off a blush at his words. Before him, she _never_ blushed. Leave it to Steve Rogers to be the first one to make her do so—and so _frequently_ , at that. She’d find it frustrating if she didn’t love him so much. “I’m glad to know you’ve gotten better with the romance,” she smirked. “Has Thor been giving you advice?”

“Tony,” Steve corrected, though the grin that lit up his face told her that he was joking. He fell serious soon after, however, and nuzzled the skin below her ear with his nose. “You _are_ the best thing that’s ever happened to me, though.”

She sighed contentedly. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say the same.”

“What were you thinking about earlier? Before you called me out for staring,” he asked.

“This,” she answered honestly. “Being normal. A year ago, if you would have told me that I’d be living in my own house, cuddling on a couch with my boyfriend and watching the sun outside like in the ending of some romance movie, I would have laughed.”

Steve chuckled and she felt the vibration against her back. “Yeah, I thought that winter was never going to end,” he joked.

Natasha made a half-assed attempt to swat him on the head, of which he easily dodged out of the way. “You know what I mean,” she said.

“I do,” Steve kissed her temple. “And normal’s a good look on you.”

“Personally, I think _black’s_ a good look on me…”

Steve chuckled again, and this time the vibration made bumps prickle pleasantly across her skin. “And red, and blue,” he frowned then and squeezed her tighter. “And everything else, for that matter, too.”

“Flatterer.”

“But black,” Steve was going on, albeit a tad breathlessly, “Definitely black.”

When Natasha looked up at him, he had a dazed look in his eye. “Getting any ideas, soldier?”

“Just the thought of you in some very enticing black clothing,” Steve admitted. “I think I’ve just realized what envisioning you in black does to me.”

Natasha smirked and raised an eyebrow as she felt something… _particular_ press up against her lower back. “Nice to know. I’ll use that information to my advantage when I’m figuring out what to wear to our party tonight.”

“ _Tasha,_ ” Steve breathlessly admonished as she crowned her words by tracing her fingertips dangerously close to the inseam of his pants.

“What would our friends think about that?” she asked, voice falling down to a sultry whisper.

Steve chuckled, though it came out shaky as her fingers edged further up his thigh. “For one, Stark would never let me live it down.”

Natasha set her mug down on the coffee table before turning so that she was half-straddling Steve’s lap, the fingers on her other hand now teasing his upper thigh as she brought her face immensely close to his. He was panting quietly, already sounding a bit wrecked, and she felt a surge of pride go through her at the sight. _She_ was the reason for his desirous state, and only her. It made a woman feel good about herself. It made a woman feel wanted. _Loved_.

With that, she murmured, “Maybe I should take care of it for you then. Save you from future embarrassment.”

“If you live up on your threat to wear black to the party this evening, your efforts now will definitely be done in vain,” he muttered back.

Natasha’s lips were almost touching his. “You really consider that a threat?”

“No, it’s more of a curse,” he replied, before his mouth turned up in a grin. “But it’s also a blessing.”

“Stop talking, Steve,” Natasha breathed, half-amused and half-aroused as she met him for a fierce kiss. Later, after she slithered down his body and had her way with him, she berated him for nearly tearing the upholstery on their new couch in the midst of his pleasure.

They didn't spend five hundred dollars on a new couch from IKEA for nothing, after all.

* * *

Hours later, after christening most of the rooms in their new home, Steve and Natasha were making the final preparations for their housewarming party. Natasha had, as “threatened”, chosen to wear black for the evening; a silky, short-sleeved blouse with a ribbon to tie about the waist, coupled with low cut jeans and peep-toe pumps. All in all, she looked just as enticing to Steve as the evening at the nightclub—or just as enticing as _ever_ , really, because she never looked less than absolutely stunning to him. She had _curled_ her curls, which didn’t make much sense to him, but he wasn’t complaining; they were wavier like this, but she still looked breathtaking nonetheless, and he knew it was going to be hard to entertain their friends when he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off of her all night.

 _God_ , she was beautiful.

And she knew it too, but not in an arrogant way. In fact, it was almost the opposite. Sure, she knew she was beautiful, but she flaunted it for Steve, not because she enjoyed the ogling. _Well,_ okay, she did, but only when it came from Steve himself. It made her feel special, he knew, and boy, did he enjoy making her feel that way. He enjoyed making her feel a lot of things, some sexual, some not. But, most of all, he enjoyed making her feel loved. He had been excelling at it for the past five months, and he’d be damned if he didn’t continue for the rest of his life.

The first guests that arrived was Maria and Sam, because Maria was never late to anything and Sam kind of just followed her everywhere since he was whipped—Steve, though, being the poster boy for _whipped,_ couldn’t exactly judge him for that—and Maria was kind of scary at the best of times. No matter, Steve could see that his friends were in a loving relationship, and he was happy for them. They had, after all, been going strong a little longer than Natasha and Steve themselves, though the two had yet to move in together. Steve had a feeling that Sam was definitely, _definitely_ getting around to suggesting that they do, but he was just waiting for the right time.

“Look, man, considering you and Nat pranced around each other for almost all of winter, I don’t really think you should be giving advice on when to act on something,” Sam chuckled into his beer, keeping his voice low so that Natasha and Maria wouldn’t hear him from where the former was showing his girlfriend the master bedroom. He even glanced over his shoulder to double check; the two men knew how silent their girlfriends’ footsteps could be.

Steve raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying,” he grinned.

“I’m waiting for the right time,” Sam said, before chuckling again. “See, now you got me sounding like I’m going to propose or something.”

“I’m _just_ saying,” Steve was still grinning, but he left it at that as Natasha and Maria came back down the hall and joined the men in the living room.

“It’s a really nice house,” Maria said to the redhead, looking around the area to reinforce her statement. Her eyes fell on her boyfriend, a sort of twinkle playing in the blue orbs. “What do you think, Sam?”

Sam nearly choked on his beer. “What?”

Maria was doing a very good job at concealing her amusement with a mostly stony look. “The house. It’s nice, isn’t it? I could see myself living in something like this.”

Steve noticed how Natasha was smirking in amusement herself, though she attempted to hide it in her wine glass. Sam, however, was oblivious to both of the women screwing with him. “Y-yeah, it’s really great.”

“Just saying,” Maria cracked a wide smile, taking a sip of wine from her own glass.

Sam opened his mouth, finally realizing that he was being teased, but he didn’t get a chance to speak as a knock sounded on the front door, announcing Steve and Natasha’s next guests. Natasha rolled her eyes as Clint stuck his face in the living room window, motioning to him that the door was unlocked before giving him a rare hug—she hadn’t seen him in a while since he and Steve weren't living together anymore, so sue her—once he stepped inside and greeting Bobbi, who was holding a bottle of champagne, with a cheek-to-cheek kiss as she followed behind. 

“You want any arrow-shaped holes to add a little personal touch to the place, you know who to call,” Clint smirked, clapping Steve on the back in hello.

Natasha quickly walked up to the archer, smacking him on the back of the head. “Don’t you even dare.”

“Don’t worry, I made sure that he left the bow at home,” Bobbi smiled. “I knew Tony was coming tonight, so…”

Maria raised her eyebrows. “Good call,” she replied, “I don’t think Jane would have let Thor get between that fight.”

“Are you kidding? Jane would have a heart attack,” Clint said. “Her and Thor make these two seem mild,” he gestured between Steve and Natasha.

“You _do_ know whose house you’re currently in, right?” The redhead asked, eyebrow poised in an arch.

“Yeah, you’re in the home of Joseph Stalin and Woodrow Wilson. Don’t go starting World War III now, Barton.”

The group of friends turned towards the door, where Tony was currently standing with a shit-eating grin on his face and his arms outstretched at his sides. Pepper was standing behind him, looking very much unamused and very much in need of a drink.

Natasha quickly handed her friend a glass of wine, filled almost to the top. “Still don’t know how you deal with that,” she whispered as she gave the ginger-haired woman a hug.

“With this,” Pepper smirked, holding up her glass. “ _A lot_ of this.”

Natasha held up a bottle of vodka that she had stored for the party, a knowing look on her face. “And this?”

“And _that_.”

“Rogers, you sure you want to live with her?” Tony asked, waving a hand in Natasha’s direction.

Steve shot his girlfriend a smile. “Positive.”

“Sickening,” Tony made a face, before turning and looking around the apartment. “Where the hell is Banner? He made a promise to _finally_ introduce us to his girlfriend.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam frowned. “We met Betty months ago.”

Tony began, “I—” before glancing around at all of the looks his friends were giving him and instead saying, “Seriously? _All_ of you have met her already? Even you, Pep?”

Pepper shrugged. “Me, Natasha, Jane, Bobbi and Maria have had lunch with her on multiple occasions,” she answered.

“Maybe if you didn’t make fun of Bruce so much for having a girlfriend in the first place, it wouldn’t have come to this,” Steve suggested, smirking as he took another swig of his beer. “Though, I’d say he hid her from you for good reason.”

“You guys are terrible friends,” the engineer pouted. “Just watch. I’m going to make a _great_ impression on Betty.”

Tony made as great impression as he ever could, which mostly consisted of him rubbing off on Betty as an egotistical smart ass the moment she and Bruce stepped through the door, but she apparently had been briefed on Tony’s personality prior by mostly all of the others in the group. When Thor and Jane arrived, they were just in time for the foreigner to stop a budding argument between Clint and Tony, something about Tony asking the former about arrows and if he “knew where to put them”, coupled with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle, though the fight was stopped by Thor bodily removing Tony to an opposite corner of the room as another knock sounded on the front door. As Pepper went to berate her boyfriend, Steve and Natasha went to answer the door, both of them expecting different guests.

When Steve opened the door, though, both of those guests were standing there, with a _very_ sizable gap between them.

Bucky chuckled nervously and darted his eyes between his friends and the blonde woman standing next to him. “Yeah, this is awkward.”

“I’ve already told him that I’ve let bygones be bygones,” Yelena offered. “He doesn’t believe me.”

“You _threatened_ to—”

“It was a largely empty threat.”

“Guys, guys,” Steve interrupted, holding his arms out at his sides as Natasha smirked over his large bicep. Bucky and Yelena were more or less facing each other now, comebacks poised on the tips of their tongues. “Calm down, would you?”

“I would, except for the fact that Natasha forgot to mention that she was friends with this one,” Bucky not-so-subtly nudged his head at Yelena, who rolled her eyes.

“That’s because we weren’t friends then,” the blonde told him. “Like I said, bygones are bygones.”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but Steve simply sighed exasperatingly and yanked his best friend into the house by the front of his shirt. “Stop being a baby.”

As Bucky grumbled something under his breath about Yelena possibly taking his left arm when he wasn’t looking as retribution for him dumping her all those years ago, Natasha smirked at the blonde woman and pulled her into a hug. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Me too. Thanks for inviting me,” Yelena replied.

“Yeah, well, this is my clean slate,” Natasha smiled, shrugging slightly. “It seemed only fitting to invite the person who told me I still had a chance at having one.” She paused to look Yelena over, still smiling, and lifted an eyebrow. “Although I must say that _you_ look like you’ve been doing well for yourself, too. You look great, Yelena.”

“I took my own advice,” Yelena grinned. “Rehab. I’ve been clean for four months.”

“I’m proud of you, < _little one_ >.”

“I have you to thank, really,” the blonde replied. “But before everything gets super mushy, I smell wine. Shall we?” When Natasha gave her a look, Yelena added, “I was a _drug_ addict, Tasha, not an alcoholic.”

Natasha grinned. She supposed she couldn't really argue with that.

* * *

Bucky and Yelena were the last expected guests, so the group of friends began to eat dinner shortly after their arrival. Steve had prepared a wide range of things, though it was mostly barbeque as he wanted to try out the grill Tony had bought him and Natasha as one of numerous housewarming presents, and all of the others had come to appreciate Steve’s cooking as the masterwork that it was by then, digging in greedily and, in some cases, fighting over the last of the food. The fight, of course, had been between Tony and Clint, but _Thor_ had been the one to win, snatching the last pork rib from the serving dish in lieu of actually stopping their argument as per usual, though it got the two men to stop bickering just as well. Thor didn’t even bother to hide his self-satisfied grin as he ate the rib, barbeque sauce slathered all over his face, as Tony and Clint pouted on either side of the dining table.

Later on, after everyone had relocated to the living room to chat and drink and listen to music, Natasha noticed that Steve had disappeared. It didn’t take her long, however, to find him outside, standing on the house’s back porch with his hands in his pockets and staring up at the sky. She slipped away from her friends, which wasn’t hard given that most of them were already a little too drunk to notice the absence of the party’s hosts, and joined Steve outside. She was quiet, as always, and she was pretty sure that she had startled him once she stepped up to his side, but Steve hid his surprise behind a soft smile before going back to watching the night sky.

Instinctively, Natasha wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned into his body. “You alright?” she murmured.

Steve nodded. “I was just…reflecting.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“Everything,” he started, smiling thoughtfully. “Our house. Our friends. This. Us,” he curled his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tighter against him. “I feel like I have everything I could ever need. _Want_.”

“I know what you mean.”

Steve pressed a kiss to her hair before looking back through the sliding glass doors leading into the house, where all of their friends were laughing and talking—looking just as happy as Steve felt. Then he could hear the music changing through the glass, the same Ella Fitzgerald song that he and Natasha first danced to back in the dance studio slightly muffled by the walls but still audible enough for them to hear outside, and Steve formed a small smirk on his lips.

“Dance with me.”

Natasha looked up at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “What?”

“Come on,” Steve was smiling broadly now as he moved so that their torsos were pressed together, placing one of her hands on his shoulder as he rested one of his own on her lower back, clasping their free hands together and holding them languidly at shoulder-length. “Dance with me," he repeated.

“Have you been practicing?” She teased in a low voice, though she started swaying with him to the soft music anyway.

He scoffed quietly. “I don’t need practice.”

Natasha was smirking now. “Everybody needs practice.”

“This is not my first dance since you taught me all those months ago,” he told her.

“Are you saying you’ve danced with somebody else besides me since then? Should I be worried?” She teased.

“If you consider dancing with Grace to Christmas carols as a reason to be worried, then be my guest.”

Natasha laughed quietly but didn’t say anything further, instead pressing her cheek to Steve’s chest as they swayed. She could hear the steady beating of his heart beneath her ear, the rhythm so calming that she was almost tempted to close her eyes, but she refrained from doing so. Steve held her tighter, balancing his chin lightly on the top of her head, and he was humming to the music now, the melody sounding even sweeter to her ears when it came from his lips. Again, the feelings of _love_ and _normalcy_ engulfed her, wrapped around her just as pleasantly as Steve’s arms, and Natasha found herself never wanting to let go. The best thing, though, was knowing that Steve would never let her go, anyway.

“I love you so much,” she whispered quietly against his chest.

“I know,” he murmured. “I love you, too.”

Natasha leaned up then, meeting him for a tender kiss. He parted his lips for her, their breaths mixing between them, and they slowly stopped dancing as the kiss deepened. Steve wrapped his arms around her waist as she draped hers over his shoulders, lifting her up off of the ground in the slightest so that neither of them would have to strain so much to meet each other’s mouths, and Natasha sighed softly in content with the new, easy angle. They stayed like that for a moment, kissing leisurely and lovingly, until a sharp noise sounded and made them part for air.

When the two of them looked up, they realized that the noise had been Tony whistling—followed by Pepper smacking him on the head for ruining the moment—as all of their friends gathered at the sliding glass door, watching Steve and Natasha in their embrace. Steve blushed but was smiling happily as Natasha gave their friends a smug grin and planted another kiss on her boyfriend for show, before being placed back on her own two feet.

“I think I’m too drunk to be disgusted by what we just watched,” Tony grinned, words slightly slurred.

“Even if you were sober, you’re too much of a pervert to be disgusted, anyway,” Clint pointed out.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Tony replied. He clapped his hands at the couple in front of him. “Encore. Do it again!”

Pepper simply sighed and took a long sip of her wine. “As much as I think the two of you are utterly cute together,” she started, looking at Steve and Natasha, “please, don’t indulge him.”

“Pep, why do you hate me?”

Thor clapped the engineer on the back. “Do not fret, Anthony. I will kiss Jane if you want to witness the act again.”

As everyone laughed, Tony visibly winced at both Thor’s words and his heavy hand. “I already see that enough, but thanks, Big Guy,” he said, before turning back to the party’s hosts. “But we really came out here to berate you for being poor entertainers. What kind of hosts leaves their own guests to make out?”

“It’s something _you_ would do, isn’t it?” Natasha raised an eyebrow.

Tony grinned. “That’s before I started dating Pep, of course,” he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “She’s changed me.”

“If this is you changed, then I’d hate to see what you were like _before_ you two got together,” Maria piped up from where she was standing at Sam’s side.

Pepper shrugged. “Pretty much the same, except more sleep deprived and less kempt.”

The group turned to go back inside, Tony mumbling something under his breath about being _perfectly_ kempt at all times, while Steve and Natasha stayed where they stood, smiling and shaking their heads at their ridiculous friends. As the sliding glass door closed behind the throng of tipsy college students, Steve bent down and pressed a kiss to Natasha’s forehead, pulling her close in another embrace.

“I guess we should go back inside now?”

Natasha smirked. “Yeah, but we’re continuing where we left off as soon as everyone leaves. You can’t just kiss a girl like that and then leave her hanging, soldier.”

“For good measure, then,” Steve said, right before he bent forward and placed another passionate kiss on her lips, gripping her body close to his. She laughed against his mouth but gave the kiss back in full, even nipping his lip with her teeth before pulling away.

She was smiling enticingly up at him, clearly amused by how dilated his eyes had turned in the last thirty seconds. “I’d say we could just kick everyone out and head straight to the bedroom now, but that’d just be rude.” With that, she walked away, and Steve gaped at her as she swayed her hips and smirked over her shoulder, leaving him hot and bothered and very... _uncomfortable_.  _  
_

Natasha Romanoff was a lot of things, among which an incredible tease, as previously exampled. But, most importantly, she was  _his_ , and he'd never change that for the world...

...especially not when he was  _hers_ , as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue the credits and the sappy music, we have come to the end of the road, my friends. This A/N is probably going to be long, so heads up if you're lazy and if you don't wanna read it (I totally understand, I'm the same way. If you're one of those people, long story short I just want to say a big THANK YOU FOR READING!). But if you're still reading this note, let me do this the long, sappy way. I am so grateful to each and every single one of you for taking the time to comment and kudos and read this fic. It's my first multi-chap one for Steve/Nat and I otp and adore that pairing with all my heart, and the fact that my first serious fic for those two had such great feedback makes me one of the happiest people on earth. So, thank you all for taking the time out of your day for this fic and thank you all for the nice things you have said! It's makes a gal feel really good about herself! :)
> 
> Furthermore, I already have plans for more multi-chap fics regarding Steve/Nat in the future. The one at the forefront of my mind is a Skyfall AU (the latest James Bond movie; if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it), using the same general concept of the movie but with the Avengers instead. If/when I write it, I will definitely be changing most of the key elements to match up with my own/marvel canon, but the general theme/story basis would be the same. I'd really appreciate your guys' feedback on that idea! Until then, expect some one-shots, maybe even two-shots from me. I'm not done writing for this beautiful pairing yet!
> 
> Once again, thank you all for your support! This story couldn't have thrived without all of you readers. You guys are the best! <3


End file.
